Swagger and Sophistication
by narrowriver
Summary: When aspiring rapper Santana Lopez and her beatboxing sidekick Quinn Fabray meet Rachel Berry and Brittany Pierce, two students from Lima's private performing arts' high school, they are sorely unprepared for the repercussions. Brittana/Faberry.
1. Chapter 1

Santana Lopez leaned against the ice chest outside the Lima Heights Adjacent Stop n' Go, one hand jammed into the pocket of her baggy black stone-washed jeans, the other clutching a lime-green slushie. She sipped on the straw delicately, sucking up the cold ice and swallowing it before straightening up and setting her drink down on the cooler. She tugged down on her half-zipped blood-red hoodie, its embroidered South Pole logo displayed boldly across her chest and broken in half by the appearance of the tight white t-shirt she was wearing underneath.

She rolled her shoulders, readjusted the sideways baseball cap perched atop her mane of silky black hair, and turned to her companion.

"Q. Gimme a beat."

Quinn Fabray, sitting on the cement sidewalk against the building, looked up at her best friend. The blond-haired, hazel-eyed girl looked like she should be swathed in soft pastel-colored dresses, not the ensemble she was currently wearing – naturally distressed straight-leg jeans ending in well-worn Doc Marten boots and a black tee peeking out from underneath a plaid flannel shirt that was rolled up to her elbows. A beaten-in black leather jacket lay next to her on the ground, close to an array of tall plastic buckets. One sported a stolen hi-hat cymbal on top.

Quinn blew an unruly lock of wavy golden hair away from her face and took a sip of her own blue-raspberry slushie before replying.

"Box or drums?"

"Box. Something solid."

Quinn nodded and got to her feet. Her right hand traveled to her back pocket where a pair of smooth, well-used drumsticks resided; she stroked the smooth wood for a second before tucking them deeper down. Quinn put her hands up to her face and sucked in a breath before starting to lay down a beat for Santana.

Santana planted her prized Nike hi-tops on the cement and pushed her sleeves back before beginning to rap.

"_Hola Adjacent, it's your girl, S'Lopez hailin' from the Meadows,_

_here ta blow your Nikes off with big echoes,_

To say that this was Santana and Quinn's designated spot would be an understatement. The two of them were there every afternoon after school during the week, and oftentimes on the weekends when they weren't at the mall. The run-down convenience store was located right in front of Sunset Meadows, the mobile home park where Santana and Quinn had both lived for their entire 16 years of life.

It was a decent enough hang-out, really; the store was owned by a middle-aged guy with a beer belly named Will who almost exclusively played Journey during store hours. Santana and Quinn, being on a first name basis with him, oftentimes got their two-plus a day 44oz slushies from him for free.

"_Watch yo' self, Lima,_

_coz I've got tha skillz,_

_they say I'm as good as the brothas,"_

It had been their spot for years; Santana's older brother, Mario, had even nicknamed the two of them Jay and Silent Bob because of it. This once resulted in Santana getting her mouth washed out with soap by her mother, as she had started rapping the lyrics to Jay's "Fuck" song from _Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back _while her eagle-eared mother was unknowingly in the vicinity. Even now, though, she knew it by heart and could bust it out if she was called by said nickname.

"_I can kick yo' ass both in lovers,_

_dommin' that pussy like a bully,_

_and with the rhymes – I'll beat you down a billion times"_

Hanging out at the Stop n' Go was better than staying inside of the enormous trailer park. It was also slightly safer; Sunset Meadows was unfortunately home to some small-town gang activity, something which Santana was familiar with. Mario had been a part of the Sols Locos – made almost exclusively of Sunset Meadows' residents – for a year before he joined the army after a particularly gruesome fight against Lima Industrial's gang – the Street Ministry. Santana was constantly pressured to take up with Sols Locos, but her mother would throw a fit and Quinn would probably kill her. Quinn was a lot of things, but she was not apathetic towards the people that she loved when they did stupid-ass things.

"_Got my girl Q at my side,_

_a flannel-wearing lezzie that takes it all in stride,"_

A smile twitched at the blonde's lips at her friend's lyrics, but she kept up the beat, her mouth twisting out the intricate shapes of the sounds.

Santana and Quinn's earliest memories of being together started around three or four years, but the two had been around each other practically from birth. They were like chocolate and peanut butter – great on their own, but unstoppable and inseparable when together. To say they were close was an understatement. When Max Addison stole Quinn's pudding cup in third grade and she had cried because her mother rarely ever had the money to buy them, Santana beat him up until he gave it back. And when Santana would get detention (which happened about every other week), Quinn would faithfully wait for her for the whole two hours, often having to hide in a cramped janitor's closet as students weren't allowed to hang around the school after-hours.

They were the best of friends, but they had never been involved romantically; and although both of them were interested in women, the thought of dating each other never crossed their minds. They were too close, too much like sisters.

"_her boxin' is sweet and her street drummin'_

_pretty much has me comin',_

_her beats will make yo' heart race_

_like a nig away from the popos on a chase,"_

Santana had taken to rapping like a moth to light after she had heard enough of it. She loved the thrill of the words coming out of nowhere, just relying on her emotions to spin the rhymes. Her mother wasn't the most supportive of her hobby, but it mostly meant that Santana stayed out of trouble, so she didn't say much of anything these days. And, while her forte was rapping, her regular singing voice was excellent, which only a select few people were privy to hear, Quinn being one of them.

Quinn had her best friend matched in musical ability. She had a natural talent for beatboxing, but nothing gave her more pleasure than banging on things and producing a beat. She had been saving up her allowance for a drum set since she was thirteen, but it was slow going. The blond was a girl of few words, but when provoked – most often when defending Santana from the Lima Industrial kids that went to school with them – she could cut someone down with both rhetoric as well as her fists. Quinn, however, preferred to make a statement with her musical ability, and she could – moreso than she ever would be able to with words.

"_so, Adjacent, show me whatcha got,_

_but don't mess with S'Lopez,_

_coz I will fuck wich ya like the mafia_

_yeah, like the motherfuckin' mafia of this mess"_

Quinn pulled her hands away from her mouth and pursed her lips. "Little weak on the ending."

Santana waved a hand. "Eh, whatever Q. You know I've been feelin' uninspired lately. I liked it."

"Me too." Both Santana's and Quinn's heads swiveled simultaneously towards the new voice. A tall, leggy blond stood next to a short brunette whose face bore an irritated expression. A flashy red sports car was parked in front of the store; the two wannabe musicians had been too caught up in their impromptu music-making to notice the girls' arrival.

"Brit, come on, I really don't think we should be conversing with these types of people. Let's go inside this sorry excuse of a store and inquire-"

"You're really good." The tall blonde, Brittany, stepped forward, her pale blue eyes on Santana. She bounced on the balls of her feet, Quinn's beat still pounding in her head. Santana grinned in response, showing white teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Totally." Brittany returned the smile, her entire face lighting up. Santana inhaled sharply, her stomach flipping. Her dark eyes made the quick journey up and down the blonde's toned body; she wore flashy hi-tops, baggy sweatpants, and a tank top covered by a loose sweater-wrap – every garment colorful and clinging to her in all the right places. Santana faltered for a second, losing her usual train of "be chill, yo"-esque thought – she'd never seen a girl like this before.

Quinn cleared her throat, the sound snapping Santana out of her daze. She smirked, looking to her left at her best friend. Pretty much knowing what Santana was thinking, Quinn's mouth twitched up at the corners, surreptitiously mimicking Santana's smirk. Santana settled her gaze on Brittany again.

"I can't help noticing that you seem a little… outta place, Brit, right? S'short for Brittany, yeah?"

Brittany nodded vigorously, biting her lip in such a way that made Santana's mouth go dry. "Yeah, we're l-"

"We're perfectly fine, thank you very much, nosy androgynous street-hoodlum," the brunette interrupted, her dark brown eyes narrowed at Santana. She folded her arms across her chest, setting her jaw.

Quinn's mouth rounded into an 'o'. She took a step forward, ready to stop Santana from potentially causing the girl to shell out thousands of dollars on facial reconstruction surgery.

Santana stared at the petite brunette, shoulders tensed and eyes dangerous. She considered her options – most of them ended in the wee, irritating girl bloodied and broken on the ground.

Brittany scrunched her nose and frowned deeply, looking at her friend with disapproval. "That's not very nice, Rachel. I think she's just trying to help." She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. "Also what's androgynous? Is that from those Star Wars movies you finally made me watch last week? 'Cause she doesn't _look_ like an alien or a robot." The blonde peered at Santana, tilting her head to the side, possibly trying to determine whether or not she was human.

Rachel blushed. Santana stared. Quinn blinked, her eyes on the small brunette.

As well as being a badass yet soft-spoken lesbian street drummer and beatboxer, Quinn Fabray was a closet nerd. In her room, among her posters of The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, The Who, and more recent indie bands, were more posters, magazine tear-outs, and pictures of Star Wars, Star Trek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer – whatever she could get her hands on that fulfilled her inner nerd. There was not an inch of bare wall in Quinn's room; and, while most of her allowance went towards a drum kit, she was an avid gamer, with drumsticks tucked in one pocket and a Nintendo D.S. in the other.

The blonde took a closer look at Rachel; she looked incredibly out of place beside the Stop 'n' Go. Her expensive-looking yellow cardigan portrayed a good amount of modesty, yet the gray argyle skirt she was wearing showed a decent amount of thigh. Quinn swallowed and forced her eyes up to the brunette's face – unfailing to notice the extreme shininess of her straight hair, as well as her warm, chocolate-colored eyes. Quinn shifted uncomfortably, her palms suddenly sweaty.

"No, Brittany, it is not, and I only made you watch them to further your education of and exposure to John Williams' musical genius which is unmatched by almost all of today's film score composers who simply cannot-"

"But didn't you say that you liked the characters, too? Leia, right, and that bear that growls a bunch?"

"Brittany! He does not _growl! _He is a Wookie and they-"

The silent laughter that had been shaking Santana's torso for the better part of the exchange burst loose. Rachel stopped mid-sentence and glared daggers at the girl, her cheeks bright red and radiating warmth. Quinn smiled gently at the irritable brunette, her own cheeks growing warm at the thought of the pint-sized firecracker being well-versed in Star Wars knowledge.

"Leia or Padme?" she asked quietly, her gentle hazel eyes fixed on Rachel's face.

The brunette bit her lip, her navel involuntarily pulling inwards as she inhaled suddenly upon hearing the blonde's line of questioning. She scoffed. "Easy. Leia, of course, but you do have to take into account that Padme, obviously, is Leia's mother and she was an – excuse my language – badass, but I despise how she fell for Anakin when he was such a cocky, irritating adolescent; however, Leia isn't much better on that front, getting captured and all that, and of course she had a thing for Luke, but you can't blame her for that, really-"

"Midget. Your galactic tits. Calm thems," Santana drawled lazily, her mouth twisted up into a subtle smile and her dark eyes fixed on Brittany again.

Rachel looked furious and 'hmph'ed, but relaxed upon catching a reassuring smile from Quinn. The brunette sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "As Brittany was saying, I must admit that we are unfortunately lost, which is not my fault might I add; I think my GPS is out of date or messing up on purpose because it has taken personal offense to me or something."

"Big surprise there," Santana said. Rachel glared.

"Rach is right, we're lost. I don't know where we are. But to be honest, I don't know where most places are. I'm not good with telling my right from my left." Brittany bit her lip and frowned.

"Well, for starters, _muchachas_, you're in Lima Heights Adjacent. Welcome." Santana smirked.

"Oh, no." Rachel grimaced.

"Oh, yes."

"You're not going to rob us, are you?"

Santana scoffed, looking semi-offended. "No, _puta pequeña_. Your ride is pretty sweet and all, but we aren't those kinds of people."

Quinn nodded in affirmation. "We just like to hang out here and drink slushies while throwing down some beats from time to time."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Are you a drummer?" She nodded towards the array of upturned buckets.

Quinn swallowed, balling and unballing her perspiring hands into fists. "Uh, yeah, kinda. I don't have a legit drum kit but I've been saving up…"

"She's pretty fuckin' good with those buckets though. Also with her hands," Santana added with a gleeful smirk.

Both Quinn and Rachel flushed bright red. Brittany giggled and squinted at Quinn's hands. "They do look talented. And I would know: my whole _body_ is talented."

Santana sucked in a breath in between her teeth. "_Yeeah_ it is," she murmured.

"Hm?" Brittany asked, her eyes flicking over to Santana.

"Nothin', Brits. Are you two from Carmel or somethin'?"

"Anderswood," Rachel chirped, a smug grin coming over her features.

Santana blinked and Quinn raised an eyebrow. The blonde bit her lip. "The performing arts' high school in north Lima?"

"That's the one! But some people like to pronounce it as two words, Anders Wood, because it sounds dirty." Brittany scrunched up her nose and Rachel nodded curtly.

"Brittany is the best student in their dance program and I'm the best in both their music and theatre programs."

"You're so despairingly modest, midget," Santana deadpanned, but she was impressed, as was Quinn. Anderswood was small and extremely selective – not to mention wildly expensive. They glanced at each other simultaneously, reading the same emotion in each others' eyes: extreme envy, though much more pronounced on Quinn.

"Do you guys go to McKinley? What are your names?" Brittany asked, a wide smile on her lips. Santana briefly wondered if it ever disappeared, but immediately decided that she never would want to witness that.

"Yeah, we go to that shithole. I'm Santana Lopez – or S'lopez, as I'm called by almost everyone around here. And this shy asshole over here is Quinn fuckin' Fabray."

Quinn rolled her eyes in mock-annoyance. "Hi." She frowned lightly. "Brittany and… Rachel, then?"

Rachel nodded. "Yes. I'm Rachel Berry and this is Brittany Pierce. And now that our formal introductions are over, can you please give us some directions so we can get the hell out of here?"

Brittany pouted. "But, Rachel…" She looked at her friend, her bottom lip withdrawn into a pout (Santana instantly deemed it The Cutest Thing Ever). "I like them a lot. Can't we stay a little bit?"

Santana and Quinn waited with bated breath, anxiously watching the two girls and secretly hoping that they would stay.

"Brittany… we still have to find that costume shop and I need to pick up sheet music from Ms. Holiday because she, of course, being who she is, forgot to give it to me during class –"

"Please…?"

Rachel sighed. Santana took a small step forward. "Yeah. Stay a bit. We can jam, if you want, and Brittany can dance?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow and Brittany smiled. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "Yes! I would love that. Please, Rachel, please?"

"Yeah, please, Rachel?" Santana added, staring down the short brunette, who sighed again. Her eyes traveled to Quinn, who had a better puppy-dog pout than Brittany. She inhaled sharply, her eyes briefly stuck to Quinn's brilliant hazel ones and her gentle, charming smile.

"… okay. What can we possibly sing, or in your case, rap, though? I have a large repertoire of Broadway classics, of course, but I am limited in my knowledge of rap and hip hop as I stoutly avoid listening to contemporary radio stations. Thus, I do not listen to rap very often. Or at all."

"Easy. I'll start in on the first verse, yeah? And you take over the singing parts from there. Q? You know what song I'm talkin', yeah?" The blonde nodded and moved over to sit at her make-shift drum set, pulling her drumsticks out of her back pocket and rubbing the worn wood out of habit. Santana swung her eyes back to Rachel and offered her a light smile. "You'll know it, midget. Promise."

Rachel pursed her lips but nodded. Brittany, her lips curled up in a smile, shook her hands in anticipation, excited at the prospect of dancing in front of Santana and Quinn. She rolled her shoulders and readied herself to try and impress the two girls.

Quinn also rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck from side to side, twirling her drum sticks once before giving Santana a nod.

Santana tugged down on her baseball cap and began, her raspy, Spanish-tinged voice laying down the first two lines of the song effortlessly.

"_Just gonna stand there and watch me burn,_

_that's alright because I like the way it hurts"_

She gestured at Rachel to continue, who smiled at the discovery that she did indeed know the song, as well as the fact that Santana's regular singing voice was quite good. She continued where Santana left off.

"_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry_

_that's alright because I love the way you lie,_

_I love the way you lie"_

Quinn about missed her entrance, she was staring at Rachel so intensely. The tiny brunette's voice produced the most jaw-dropping effect; in that moment, Quinn deemed it the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. The blonde started in on the beat of the song at the last second, playing softly enough as to not overpower Santana and Rachel. Her drumming was spot-on, mimicking the beat of the Eminem song perfectly.

Santana took a deep breath, a smile tugging at her lips as she sunk into her element.

"_I can't tell you what it really is__, __I can only tell you what it feels like__  
><em>_And right now there's a steel knife in my windpipe__  
><em>_I can't breathe, but I still fight while I can fight__  
><em>_As long as the wrong feels right, it's like I'm in flight__  
><em>_High of a love, drunk from my hate__  
><em>_It's like I'm huffing paint and I love it the more that I suffer – I suffocate__  
><em>_And right before I'm about to drown, she resuscitates me – she fucking hates me"_

Like a real rapper, Santana moved her arms, gesturing and moving from foot to foot as she laid down the string of words to Quinn's beat perfectly.

"_And I love it – wait!_

_Where you going? I'm leaving you__  
><em>_No you ain't, come back, we're running right back__  
><em>_Here we go again, it's so insane cause when it's going good, it's going great__  
><em>_I'm Superman, with the wind in his bag – she's Lois Lane__  
><em>_But when it's bad, it's awful – I feel so ashamed__  
><em>_I snap – who's that dude?__  
><em>_I don't even know his name; I laid hands on her__  
><em>_I'll never stoop so low again – I guess I don't know my own strength"__  
><em>  
>As Rachel started in on the chorus again with her smooth-as-honey voice, Santana shifted and swung her eyes to Brittany. The tall, graceful blonde's eyes were closed as she danced to the music, her movements flawless and perfect. Santana was mesmerized, her eyes still on Brittany when she moved onto the next verse.<p>

_"__You ever love somebody so much you can barely breathe when you're with 'em__  
><em>_You meet__ a__nd neither one of you even know what hit 'em"_

Brittany opened her eyes and found Santana staring at her intensely, but not lustfully. She kept her own eyes glued on the rapping girl as she continued to move her dancer's body to the beat.

Quinn shyly glanced up at Rachel and found the brunette's eyes on her. A chill ran down her back, but she did not stray from the beat. Rachel finished the chorus and swallowed, trying to push down the feelings rising up within her.

_Got that warm fuzzy feeling – yeah them chills__  
><em>_Used to get 'em, now you're getting fucking sick__ o__f looking at 'em__  
><em>_You swore you've never hit 'em, never do nothing to hurt 'em_

_Now you're in each other's face, spewing venom__  
><em>_And these words – when you spit 'em__  
>You push<em>_, pull each other's hair,__  
><em>_Scratch, claw, bit 'em, throw 'em down, pin 'em_  
><em>So lost in the moments when you're in 'em<em>_  
><em>_It's the rage that took over – it controls you both_

_So they say it's best to go your separate ways__  
><em>_Guess that they don't know ya __  
><em>_Cause today - that was yesterday__  
><em>_Yesterday is over, it's a different day__  
><em>_Sound like broken records playin' over – but you promised her__  
><em>_Next time you'll show restraint – you don't get another chance__  
><em>_Life is no Nintendo game__  
><em>_But you lied again - now you get to watch her leave out the window _

_Guess that's why they call it window pane"__  
><em>

The rest of the song was flawless; Rachel's voice proved to be a perfect addition to Santana's rapping, and Quinn's drumming did not sound as if it were just on buckets – her beats were both succinct and fluid, impeccably moving along with the lyrics. Brittany moved as if in a high, her dancing expressing the beat and lyrics of the song to a tee.

Rachel brought the song to a close and Santana grinned widely, leaning over to fist-bump a smiling Quinn.

"That was sweet," the blond affirmed.

"I would have liked a bigger part, Santana," Rachel complained, crossing her arms over her stomach but hiding a smile.

"Tough shit, midget," Santana retorted, her grin unfaltering.

"You guys were amazing!" Brittany exclaimed, a light sheen of sweat upon her brow. Santana's face fell slightly as she stared at the blond dancer in wonderment, butterflies shooting around the inside of her stomach. She licked her lips before clearing her throat.

"Yeah well what 'bout you, Brits? Those moves were sick!" Santana held her fist out for Brittany to bump in mandatory celebration, but Brittany ignored it. Instead, she reached out and hauled Santana in for a tight hug.

Santana about melted, her pulse skyrocketing and her stomach flipping. Quinn smirked lightly and Rachel looked somewhat uncomfortable, glancing away from the pair.

Santana pulled away from Brittany a little bit, clearing her throat. Brittany smiled at her gently, murmuring into her ear, "Thanks, Santana. That means a lot."

Santana, her cheeks growing warm, stepped away from the girl and waved her hand. "No prob. I speaks tha truth, B." Brittany responded with a bright smile that melted Santana's core even further.

"Right, well, this has been enlightening but Brittany and I must really go now. It has been a pleasure," Rachel stated, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Brittany frowned lightly, but conceded. She nodded. "Okay. Bye, Quinn. Bye, Santana. We should do something together sometime."

Santana nodded. "Totally. See ya, Brits. Midget. By the way, the place you're lookin' for is two streets over. A right and then a left." She tugged on her baseball cap, her demeanor shifting back to the tough gangster image she usually portrayed.

Rachel rolled her eyes, but nodded in thanks. "Santana." Her eyes roamed to Quinn, who was looking at her with a slightly forlorn expression. "… Quinn." She swallowed before turning abruptly and gesturing to Brittany. She walked back over to her car, the blond following her.

"Bye," Quinn murmured, frowning lightly. She and Santana watched as the two girls got into the car and drove away. Brittany looked back and waved at them until Rachel turned the corner.

Santana leaned back into the ice chest, closing her eyes and frowning. Quinn set down her drum sticks and hunched over, resting her head on her hands. She sighed. "Mm."

"Yeah." Santana responded in kind. She was quiet for a minute. "But _damn_, Q, did you see that girl dance? Holy shitsticks, I about fuckin' _came_."

Quinn chuckled. "I think she noticed," she replied dryly. "And Rachel's voice…"

"I havta admit, the midget can _sing_."

"Fuck yeah she can. Too bad we'll never see them again."

"Yeah."

Quinn sighed, Santana mimicking her a second later. The blond pulled out her cell phone and swore. "Fuck. It's six-thirty."

"Oh, _shit_. I'm late for dinner, _mamí_ is gonna kill me," Santana straightened up. She helped Quinn stack up her buckets and they tucked them in the back shed of the shop before half-running, half-walking, into the trailer park.

"… they were so fuckin' fine."

"S."

"Oh c'mon. Don't pretend like you weren't eye-fuckin' the midget that whole time."

"Shut up."

"Make me, Fabgay."

"Fuck you."

"Love you too, Q."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews. =) They are very much appreciated. This chapter is a little bit angsty, but the next one will be a lot lighter.

Santana and Quinn made it through their neighborhood unscathed and walked up to their mobile homes, a comfortable silence held between them. Their trailers stood next to one another, Santana's on the left and Quinn's on the right, separated by a few yards of patchy grass. The homes were identical except for the color; Santana's was a brownish-orange color that had been sufficiently bleached by the sun and Quinn's a sky-blue with white shutters, giving off the impression of a cloud amongst blue skies. Once the two girls stood in front of Santana's they turned towards one another and bumped fists.

"Hope your mom doesn't tear you a new one," Quinn stated, her eyes showing some concern.

"She should be fine. _Papa_, though…" Santana broke off, frowning. She swallowed, her brow creased and her expression slightly fearful.

Quinn grimaced but she could only console her best friend so much, knowing Mr. Lopez's temperament quite well and the limited ways to deal with it. She frowned. "See you tomorrow, S."

"Ditto, Q. Tell Judy I said hi."

"Will do. Night, S."

They parted ways; Santana walked on the cracked paving stones up to her front porch while Quinn took the steps to hers two at a time.

Santana braced herself before pulling open her front door and stepping inside. The interior of her mobile home was an off-white color, the ceiling bearing old marks of water damage. She scrunched her nose.

"Nice of you to come home, Santana," Anthony Lopez grunted, sitting in his Lazy Boy with a TV tray in front of him. He pulled his eyes away from the football game playing on the off-color television to stare at her with dark, slightly glazed-over eyes, a glimmer of hostility residing in their depths. Santana directed her gaze down to the beer bottle in his hand before looking down at her feet.

"Sorry, _papa_. I lost track of time."

He grunted again and focused his attention back on the television before taking a long swig of his beer. "Maybe you or _Señorita_ Fabray should get a fucking watch, then."

Santana stiffened at the mention of her best friend, but remained passive. "Yes, _papa_."

"Sanny!"

A small figure collided into Santana, wrapping skinny arms around her tightly. "I missed you today!"

Santana smiled genuinely and ran her fingers through her seven year-old brother Cesar's dark brown hair, ruffling it affectionately. "I missed you, too, _hermanito_."

"You done with dinner, _mi hijo_?" their father questioned, his gaze moving in between the television and Cesar. His eyes were softer than earlier as he looked at his son.

"Yes, _papi_." Cesar responded before returning his attention to Santana. He buried his head into her stomach, breathing in the faint scent of her Axe bodyspray. He pulled back and looked up at her with sparkling eyes. "Come play with me, Sanny?"

Santana ruffled his hair once more, an easy smile on her lips and her eyes glinting with adoration. Along with her mother and Quinn, Cesar was one of her favorite and most-loved people. Her father gave him special treatment, the same kind that he had given to Santana's older brother, Mario, in years past. It didn't bother Santana as much as it used to; she held no bitterness towards the fact that Cesar was her father's favorite. She would do anything for her little brother, no questions asked.

"I will, promise, but let me get some food first, 'Sar." Santana took a step forward towards the kitchen and Cesar reluctantly let go of Santana. He bounced up and down for a second; the movement reminded Santana of Brittany's enthusiasm earlier that day. A dreamy smile briefly slid over her features before she shook her head. Cesar ran off into his room and Santana moved into the kitchen.

"_Mija_. You're late."

"I'm sorry, _mami_."

Santana's mother, Isabel, pursed her lips and rested her calloused hands on her hips. She gave her daughter an once-over and shook her head before a light, rueful smile appeared on her lips. She sighed and nodded towards the kitchen counter where a lone plate sat, piled with food. "Enchiladas."

Santana about ran into the counter to grab the plate. She threw it into the microwave and watched it spin around inside, impatient.

"How is _mi mija_ Quinnie?" Isabel questioned, taking a seat at the rickety kitchen table. She tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear, the color identical to Santana's. They were splitting images of one another, except for the marks of aging and Santana's cheekbones – about the only thing she inherited from her father, except for perhaps his temper and penchant for getting into trouble.

Santana chortled. "_Quinnie_ is fine. She hasn't grown a beard or really changed at all since yesterday, _mami_." The microwave beeped and she tore open the door to grab the plate only to yank her hand back due to its temperature having sky-rocketed. "Fff-" She bit her lip to keep from swearing in the presence of her mother. "-riday. I, uh… really hate that song…"

Isabel raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Santana used the sleeve of her hoodie to grab the plate. She plunked it down on the table and grabbed a fork before digging in to her reheated enchiladas.

"How was school?" Isabel asked, trying to have some semblance of a conversation with her daughter.

"Ith wa okeay," Santana responded.

"Santana Maria Rivera de la Fuega Lopez, how many times do I have to tell you not to talk with your mouth open?" Isabel stared sternly at her daughter, the girl's full name rolling off of her tongue effortlessly due to using it frequently.

"Thorry." Santana swallowed. "School was school. Same as every other day. The LI kids are gettin' worse, though. Along with harassing me, as usual, they're really pressuring Puck to join the Ministry and he doesn't want anything to do with them."

"Smart _niño_. They didn't like that, did they?"

Santana took a bite and swallowed before speaking this time. "They ganged up on him after school and threatened to mess him up. Called him a traitor."

"Does this have anything to do with him being your friend?" Isabel's mouth was in a tight line. Lima was not a big town, but the gang activity was horrendous, and often overlooked by the authorities and politicians. She knew what they could do; she had learned that when Mario got sucked into Sols Locos. He would come home bleeding more often than not and she could not count the number of times she had washed blood out of his clothes. He came home late one night with a large, self-stitched gash in his side, pale as a ghost. Isabel always stayed up on the nights he was out until he got home, and this particular night she lost it when she saw the amount of blood on his clothes and the wound itself. Sobbing on the couch and holding Mario like he was a little boy again, she made him promise to get out of the gang in any way that he could.

Her room right next to the living room, Santana had woken up to the sounds of her mother's uncontrollable sobbing. She padded out into the hallway and watched in silence as her mother held Mario, the blood on his clothes transferring to her hands and nightgown.

She was thirteen at the time, old enough to understand what was going on.

Anthony did next to nothing when Mario told him that he was leaving to go into the Army, and probably would not be able to come back anytime soon. He had become distant with his son whom he had once doted on and adored for years, but around the time Mario had joined the Sols Locos, his alcoholism had also taken over.

The day Mario left was filled with tears from Isabel and Cesar, who was not old enough to understand exactly why his brother was leaving, but knew that he was going away and wouldn't come back for a long time. Santana had remained stone-faced, overcome with anger – not at Mario, but at the gangs. She blamed them for taking her brother – once her hero – away from her. Her eyes had been dry, but she had clung to Mario until Cesar pulled at her leg so he could do some clinging of his own. Anthony had half-heartedly hugged his son mumbling a meager "good luck".

Mario hadn't been back since.

The repercussions of his abandonment of the gang were not pretty. Several times the Lopez's mailbox was bashed in, other times it was filled with death threats. Their trailer was routinely vandalized, with spray-painted expletives and accusations. Over the next three years, however, the harassment of the Lopez's had subsided – but only in the neighborhood.

Santana bore the brunt of Mario's abandonment; the gang didn't care about her mother or father, and they weren't cruel enough to target Cesar. Several times she had been walking home or elsewhere when a car with Sols Locos members had driven by; they rarely got out, instead shouting vulgarities and threats and pointing a gun or two at her and oftentimes Quinn. They quickly learned how to avoid them.

School was another matter. Several Sols Locos members attended William McKinley High School, as well as those in Lima Industrial's Street Ministry. The Sols Locos would insult her brother to her face and then call her a pussy when she refused again and again to join them and repair the damage Mario had done – thereby gaining back her family's reputation and respect in the neighborhood. The Street Ministry gang members were not as nice, as Mario had risen to the top hierarchy of the Sols Locos and had dealt some heavy damage to them in the past. They routinely harassed her – shoving her into things – once hard enough to dislocate her shoulder – and leaving death threats in her locker. Once, they had cornered her in the back of the school and beaten her, splitting her lip and breaking her nose. The only thing that had stopped them from dealing even more damage to her was Quinn; Santana had been waiting for her when they had ganged up on her.

The blond had charged them like an enraged bull before laying into them with her fists. Quinn didn't look very tough, but her mother had invested in karate lessons for her a couple years back, and she had picked up on it like a moth to the light. The Street Ministry members had fled once they realized that Quinn would more than likely fight them to the death to protect Santana.

Santana was eternally thankful for her best friend. She never had to voice this out loud – Quinn knew.

"Yeah, kinda. They already have ammo against him, but they know that he's my bro, which makes it even worse." Santana grimaced. She had known Puck – Noah Puckerman – for a couple years and was pretty close to him. They had met in middle school and once they learned of each others' avoidance and hatred of the gangs, a friendship had blossomed. He was a good guy, despite his excellent skills in causing trouble; and Santana had only fought with him once, when he had persuaded a tipsy Quinn to sleep with him. Afterwards, Quinn knew for sure that she was as gay as a rainbow, and hoped to never see a penis again.

Santana had broken Puck's nose and smashed his guitar, then pulled him to his feet. Quinn had watched as her best friend leaned in close to Puck and whispered something to him. His face had whitened considerably and he had looked completely nauseated. Since that day, Puck had never come on to Quinn again.

Isabel shook her head, a deep frown overwhelming her expression. "He'll never give in, will he?"

Santana scoffed. "Course not. His hatred of Sols and the Ministry runs as deep as mine." He'd rather take a bullet in the heart than join them. The same goes for me, _mami_."

"I know, _mija_. Did anything else happen today?"

"N – oh, yeah, actually! Q and I were jamming and these two girls came up to us. They were from Anderswood and were lost. One was a singer and the other a dancer. They jammed with us and we kicked ass. That's why we were late." Santana grinned.

"Hmm. Were they cute?" Isabel inquired in a low voice, a slow smile appearing on her lips.

Santana bit her lip and grinned before nodding. "Yeah. The dancer – Brittany – she… the way she moved, _mami_, I've never seen anything like that before." With a dreamy look in her eyes, she sighed and rested her cheek in her hand, her elbow on the table.

Isabel smiled at her daughter, so obviously infatuated with a mysterious dancer. "They go to Anderswood?"

"Yeah. Lemme say that they did not look like they belonged in 'jacent. Sports car and designer threads and all that. We didn't get their numbers, though. Probably won't see 'em again." Santana's dreamy look faded, replaced by an incredibly morose expression.

Isabel reached out and patted her daughter's arm. "Hmm. Maybe that's best though, _mija_."

"What? Why?" Santana straightened up and fixed her mother with a look.

"It's just that I'm not sure if you'd want to get messed up with Anderswood kids; those girls seemed okay with being in the area, but North Lima always sticks to its own. I don't want you or Quinnie getting into trouble." Isabel patted Santana's arm again before leaning back in her chair.

"I guess you're right. But… _mami_, I'd give anything to see her again."

"I know, _mija_. There's nothing you can do, though. Now go play with Cesar; he's been gabbing and asking all day about when you'd be back. You would think he would know by now." Isabel shook her head, but smiled.

Santana chuckled and grinned softly. She took care of her plate and leaned down to give her mother a hug. "_Te amo, mami_."

"_Te amo, mi mija_."

Santana gave her mother one last squeeze before letting go. She made it through the living room without being hassled by her father and stopped in front of Cesar's room. She knocked.

Cesar, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his toys spread out all around him, looked up and gasped. "Sanny! Play with me? You promised! _Por favor_?"

"'Course, _hermanito_." Santana smiled brightly and stepped into Cesar's tiny room before sitting down across from him. "What are we playing?"

"Legos!"

"Heh, okay. Build away!" Santana replied with a grin. Nothing made her happier than playing with her younger brother – not even rapping, though it was a close second.

Santana settled down to play with Cesar and grabbed some Legos, pursing her lips and wondering what brilliant and majestic Santana Lopez-specialized structure she wanted to create. She tilted her head and stared at the small building blocks with narrowed eyes.

After a minute, the brunette shook her head and sighed - building an architectural Lego masterpiece shaped like a certain part of the female anatomy could potentially cause some problems; and thus the idea was sadly abandoned.

"_La mujer es un pedazo de mierda__!__¿Cómo__puedo__ llamoella __mi esposa_?"

"Tony, _por favor_… _alta. __Estás__borracho_…"

"_Es tu culpa__que esta familia__se va al infierno ! Que hizo__a nuestro hijo__un patriota__americano__maldito__y nuestra hija de__un pagano! No puedo__mirarla__sin querer__golpeó a algunos__en su__sentido!"_

Santana opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She stared up at the ceiling of her tiny room; its darkened walls were cloaked in shadows. She glanced to her right at the ancient alarm clock with its bright red numbers sitting on her nightstand.

It was a little after midnight and the walls of her trailer were shaking with the explosive roaring of one drunken Anthony Lopez.

It happened at least three times a week, and that number had been increasing lately. Cesar, luckily, slept through his father's rampages, but Santana was not as fortunate.

The trembling brunette, her tough-girl persona nonexistent at the moment, sat up and slipped her feet into her hi-tops without putting socks on. She yanked her window up and hoisted herself up and out, landing neatly on the ground, before turning and closing the window until it was only open a crack.

Santana stepped back and slipped away into the darkness.

Quinn opened her front door and let it bang shut behind her, stepping into her home. She glanced around, eyes moving past the light green walls dotted with crooked pictures of landscapes and old school photos.

"Mom?"

Upon hearing no response, the blond shrugged, dropped her stuff next to the door, and tugged off her boots before wandering into the kitchen. She tugged open the fridge and stood back to survey its contents, her head tilted slightly to the side. She frowned and closed it, then opened several cupboards and surveyed them. The frown on her face deepened.

She closed the cupboards before opening the fridge again and taking a closer look. Leftover lasagna that looked somewhat suspicious. Cheese. Milk. Eggs. Orange juice a few days past its expiration date. A jar of pickles. Various other items, none of which could be combined into a satisfactory dinner.

Quinn sighed and kicked the fridge closed again before opening up the cupboards one more time and narrowing her eyes.

A minute passed and the flannel-clad blond ran her hand through her short, choppy locks. Her eyes wandered between three items before she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face.

After having made her dinner, Quinn carried it into the living room and flopped down upon the lumpy couch. She glanced around, her brow scrunched, before digging her hand into the cracks of the couch cushions.

"Aha. There you are, you little fucker." Quinn pointed the remote at the television and clicked it on. She found a rerun of _Buffy_ and dug into her meal.

Five minutes later Quinn lifted her head, her eyes moving off of the fight between Buffy and a vampire (she already knew every detail about the episode anyway) currently happening on the television and to the hallway.

Judy Fabray shuffled out, dark circles under her eyes and clad in a standard waitresses' dress, her apron in hand and her nametag pinned to her chest. She smiled at her daughter and moved to sit next to her. "Hello, darling. How was your day?"

Quinn smiled softly back at her mom. "It was good, for the most part. Ooh, but something _awesome_ happened when S and I were hanging out at Will's." Her smile widened as she thought about meeting Rachel and Brittany and their impromptu jam session.

"Oh yeah? What happ- good Lord, what the hell are you eating?" Judy's eyes widened, her expression quickly contorting into disgust.

Quinn glanced down at her plate and shrugged. "Cheddar jalapeño Cheetos covered with melted Nutella and peanut butter. Wanna try?" She held out the unusual combination to her mom.

Judy pulled back and wrinkled her nose. "No thanks honey. So tell me what happened, it sounds good."

Quinn finished the last of her smothered Cheetos and licked her fingers. She moved to swing her legs up onto the couch and laid her head in her mother's lap. Judy's hands immediately moved to her daughter's head and started stroking her hair.

Their relationship was very unorthodox. They were very close, with Judy being more of a friend than a mother to Quinn. Quinn preferred it that way, though. Santana was her best friend for life, but Judy was her confidant and who she went to for help before anyone else. They were there for each other, and had grown incredibly close in the past two years after several life-altering events.

Russell Fabray – Judy's ex-husband and Quinn's father - was not a nice man. Quinn hated him and did not consider him her father, despite their biological link. He had been violent and dangerous since Quinn had been ten – once he lost his job at the local Proctor and Gamble plant for getting into a fistfight with a coworker.

He had taken his rage out on Judy in the form of verbal and physical abuse and threatened Quinn several times, once even throwing a beer bottle at her. They never called the police; he had always told them that they would pay for it if they did. He got into fistfights at the local bars – often accompanied by Anthony Lopez – and had been arrested several times.

Three years ago, Judy discovered that he had been having an affair and finally stood up to him, Quinn at her side – holding the loaded gun that she acquired through a shady acquaintance at school – and kicked him out. They shakily began to rebuild their lives, and Judy filed for divorce.

A few months after they kicked him out, a police officer had knocked on the door of their trailer. Quinn had answered it, Judy being at work, and was asked if she or her mother had any information about her father's whereabouts.

She learned that he was the main suspect in the murder of a prostitute.

Quinn shook her head and called her mother once the officer had left. They were equal parts surprised and emotionless. Both knew what Russell was capable of, but never thought that he would actually kill someone. That night, Quinn had dissolved any belief that Russell was her father and vowed to deal out some justified physical violence if he ever entered their lives again.

He was eventually caught, convicted, and sentenced to a lifetime in prison. His and Judy's divorce came through shortly afterwards.

Even though Judy had to work three jobs to support herself and Quinn now that Russell's unemployment checks had stopped, they were happy.

"Well, S and I were just chilling and drinking our slushies when S started to rap and I was backing her up, and the next thing we knew these two girls were there and complimenting us. They're from Anderswood and were totally lost."

"Anderswood?" Judy raised her eyebrows. "That's impressive."

"Yeah. Anyway, their names were Rachel and Brittany; Rachel's a singer and Brittany's a dancer. We persuaded them to have a jam sesh with us and it was amazing, mom."

Judy smiled knowingly. "Were Rachel and Brittany pretty?"

Quinn sucked in a breath and looked up into her mom's eyes. "Oh my god, mom, yes. Brittany's tall and blond and quirky and S liked her like whoa and Rachel… mom, she's gorgeous in this unique way – kinda short and with this long silky and shiny chestnut hair – and just… her voice, mom – her voice is like an angel's. I can't even, just… describe it. They were both so amazing."

Judy's smile turned soft as her daughter's eyes glazed over. She asked softly, "Do you think you'll ever see them again? North Lima is very exclusive…"

Quinn sighed and directed her gaze towards the ceiling, a light frown appearing on her lips. "Probably not, unless we look them up and like, stalk them or something. God, I wish we could. They're just… they were so awesome. We clicked, I guess. I don't know."

Judy ran her fingers through her daughter's golden locks. "Well, you never know. Maybe you two will run into them again. Life works in mysterious ways."

Quinn shrugged. "Yeah, maybe. Santana says hi by the way."

Judy grinned and rolled her eyes. "It's not like I see the girl every other day or anything."

Quinn let out a short laugh. "You love her."

The older woman ruffled Quinn's hair. "I do. I don't think you could have a better best friend."

Quinn smiled softly and sat up, swinging her legs off of the couch and onto the floor. "You've got the night shift again?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Judy replied, expelling a sigh. "And I should be leaving right about now." She stood up. "Remember to lock the door and check the windows, okay?"

Quinn nodded, as she did every time her mother reminded her. "I will."

Judy leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of her daughter's head before grabbing her apron and purse. "Bye, honey."

"Bye, mom," Quinn replied, her smile bright. Judy opened the front door and left. Quinn sighed and slouched down into the couch. She looked over at her bag, thinking about the homework she still had to do and wrinkled her nose. The blond stood and took her plate into the kitchen (licking the traces of Nutella and peanut butter off of it first before setting it in the sink) and wandered to the back of her trailer and into her room.

She changed into boyshorts and a tank top before settling on the edge of her bed and turning on her small television and refurbished Xbox. The blond crossed her legs Indian-style, getting comfortable, and reached out to grab her controller and headset. She put the latter on and started up Call of Duty: Black Ops. She signed into her account, 'Fabgayerthanyou', which was of course chosen by Santana with no input whatsoever from Quinn.

Quinn smiled when she saw a familiar name online on her friends list. She joined the game he was currently in.

"Hey Changster."

The voice on the other end was jovial. "Fab! How's it going?"

"Pretty good. What's the damage like?"

"We're barely winning, get in there with some grenades, will you? Also there's a sniper around so see if you can get up into -"

"Chang, I've played this fucking map ten billion times, jesus. I just need to improve my goddamn KDR; I've been off or some shit lately." She squinted at the television, her fingers moving effortlessly and gracefully over the buttons on the controller.

"Bad day?" His voice was concerned.

"Good, actually. I just need to – oh you _fucking asswipe_! That was my goddamn kill!"

"Sorry!" Quinn heard him laugh and scowled.

"Dickwad."

"Yeah yeah. So… when am I ever going to learn your name?"

Quinn smirked and shook her head, leaning in closer to accurately aim and take out an enemy player. "Headshot, fuck yeah! Oh, and never; how many times do I have to tell you that I don't give that shit out like candy?"

"Oh come on. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Nope! Just shut up and play the goddamn game, Chang."

Quinn heard him huff and laughed.

"I'll learn it one day," he said with a determined edge.

Quinn's smirk deepened. "Suuure you will. Go and take out that asshole that keeps chucking frags like they're goddamn photon torpedoes, will you?"

"… God, you are like, the perfect girl."

Quinn laughed but then swore loudly the next second when she was killed. "Too bad I'm gay as a unicorn sliding down a fucking rainbow with Elton John on its back."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's a damn shame if you ask me."

The blond rolled her shoulders and shook her head as if he could see it. She smiled. "Just shut up already and play, Changster."

"Asshole."

"I think I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much."

Quinn rolled over in her sleep and groaned, groggily blinking her eyes open.

Three soft knocks followed by one louder one sounded upon her window. The blond frowned and reached over from her bed to unlock it and pull it up.

Santana climbed in through Quinn's window and kicked off her hi-tops before closing the window behind her. Quinn silently scooted over in her twin bed and Santana, equally as quiet, climbed in after her.

Quinn turned over and gently put her arm over Santana's waist, effectively spooning her. Santana swallowed hard and moved her hand up to wipe at her slightly wet eyes.

Quinn closed her eyes and exhaled softly, pulling Santana closer to her. "How bad was it?" she questioned softly, her breath moving stray strands of her best friend's raven-black locks.

"He called me a heathen," Santana said tonelessly, "and said that he wanted to beat some sense into me."

Quinn felt a spark of rage rush through her veins and she scowled. She squeezed Santana's waist. "I hate him."

Santana let out a soft but dark laugh. "You and me both, Q." She pressed back into her best friend, burying her head into Quinn's pillow.

Even though neither Quinn nor Judy minded, this happened far too often. Santana would sneak over if she couldn't stand her father's verbal rampages and rap on Quinn's window; Quinn would let her in and platonically cuddle her until they both fell asleep. Santana would then slip out in the morning and back into her own trailer as if she had never left.

"You know I love you, right, S?"

"Yeah. I love you too, Q."

"Good."

"Yeah. Now go to sleep, Fabgay, before I get cavities from this sappy shit."

Quinn smiled but said nothing, instead only pulling Santana closer and closing her eyes, surrendering to the soft depths of sleep.

Santana closed her eyes and tried hard to get her father's words out of her head. She soon accomplished this by conjuring up the image of Brittany. She grinned sleepily, her last conscious thoughts of the beautiful blond dancer, pretending that her arms, instead of Quinn's, were locked around her like a protective barrier from any harm.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** You guys are wonderful! Thank you so much for all the reviews! I really love this chapter, and in the next one I promise nothing but pure Faberry and Brittana interaction. =)

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><p>"There is no way Tupac is better than The Beatles! You can't even compare the two!"<p>

Santana shrugged. "Deal wit' it, Fabray, 'cause I am. Tupac was a fuckin' word artist."

Quinn huffed and swung her bag off of her shoulder, yanking open its zipper. She held it out under the security guard's gaze, and when he nodded, swung it back on. She stepped through the metal detector and was cleared by the guard on the other side.

Santana repeated the same process and was also given the all-clear. The two girls walked down the hallway of William McKinley High School amongst other students, picking their argument back up immediately.

"Maybe, but The Beatles are just like… music _gods_. But seriously, Santana, you can't even fucking compare the two! They're two completely different genres of music!" Quinn exclaimed, glancing sideways at her best friend with an exasperated expression.

"Whatever. The only reason people like The Beatles is because they were the first of their dumbass kind. I admit that – they paved the way forward for rock and shit. But their songs were so fuckin' simple and god, their lyrics were just horrible. And those accents, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, kill me. I'd rather listen to the Andersons' cat howling in heat. Tupac was a lyrical genius and trumps The Beatles and their shit songs any day."

Quinn glared at Santana, her mouth in a thin line, before turning to her locker and angrily spinning the dial. She yanked it open with a resounding bang.

"Whoa, Q-Fab, what's the prob?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned to Noah Puckerman who was suddenly situated on the other side of her locker. "The Beatles or Tupac?"

Puck stared. "How the hell can you even compare the two?"

"Exactly! That's what I've been trying to tell S'Lopass here." Quinn nodded her head towards Santana, who was nonchalantly looking over her nails.

"Tupac is _still_ better," she sing-songed. "And you didn't answer the question, Puckerman." Santana dropped her hand and stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

Puck swallowed and shifted, his eyes moving back and forth between the two girls. "… The Beatles."

"Of fucking course. You only chose them 'cause you want in Q's pants again." Santana rolled her eyes, throwing a playful glare in his direction.

Quinn smiled and bumped Puck with her shoulder in gratitude while Santana scowled. "Damn straight. Someone's gotta keep the legends alive."

"True story, Fabs. And I don't want to gets wich you again, I promise." Puck put his hands up, casting a look over at Santana. "I don't want my damn good looks getting fucked up again by her fists. Besides, you like pussy now and I totally respect that." He nodded and held out his fist to Quinn.

Quinn bumped it with her own, flashing him a grin, and resisted the urge to reach up and give his mohawk a noogie. She bumped her locker shut with her shoulder and turned around, shifting her bag so it was settled more comfortably on her back. "C'mon, S, we're gonna be late. See you out in the quad for lunch later, Puckzilla?"

"You know it, ladies," Puck responded, wiggling his eyebrows. He bumped fists with Santana before ambling off down the hallway. Quinn and Santana started walking in the other direction towards their first class.

"He totally still wants in your fucking pants."

"Shut up. He does not."

"Does."

"You know, I _will_ order your brother to constantly bother the shit out of you the next time you sneak a girl into your bedroom. You know he'd do it too, the kid loves me to death."

Santana turned and glared at her best friend, her eyebrows raised in slight alarm. "You would not."

"Oh, I so fucking would, Lopez. Don't test me."

"You can be such a bitch sometimes, you know that?" Santana shoved Quinn lightly and the blonde smiled in response.

"You love me." Quinn turned her head to glance at her best friend and playfully bumped her shoulder with her own.

"Yeah, yeah, shut u-" Santana's words were cut off as a stocky black kid stuck his meaty hand out and shoved her. Being on the outside, she slammed into Quinn who met the wall of lockers with a bang.

The kid laughed, backing up and grinning viciously at Santana and Quinn. He was dressed in green and black – Street Ministry colors. "My bad, cunt-pez!"

Santana growled and spun around. Her eyes ablaze with anger, she let loose a string of rapid Spanglish. "_Chinga usted, _Azimio_! No me jodas!_ I will fuck you up, you cocksucking _bastardo_!" She made a move to step forward towards him, but Quinn latched upon her arm and held her back.

"Not worth it, S," she whispered.

Azimio narrowed his eyes, anger flickering in his features at her words, but he spotted one of the school's security guards moving towards them. He pointed at Santana, his hand in the shape of a gun. "Your dyke ass is mine, Lopez. Watch yo'self, cunt." He turned and moved quickly down the hallway.

Santana's nostrils flared, but she didn't resist when Quinn pulled on her arm to get them moving again. "Are you hurt?" she asked the blond quietly.

"Not too badly. That fucker. Him and Karofsky; I swear, I would love to rip off their balls and shove them down each others' throats."

Santana stopped and turned her head to Quinn, her eyebrows raised upon hearing the fire contained within her friend's words. After a second, she smirked. "I'd love to see that."

Quinn grinned and shook her head. "Yeah, well. Won't happen anytime soon. C'mon. We're gonna be late."

The two girls made it to their class at the last minute and settled down in their desks. As the lesson started, Quinn heard her phone buzz quietly. She sneaked it out and took a peak at the new text message.

**eminem could kick kurt cobain's dead ass anyday**

Quinn gritted her teeth and kicked out at the metal basket beneath Santana's desk with as much force as she could muster.

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><p>"H-hi, Quinn."<p>

The blond in question was once again at her locker – without Santana, for once – her nose scrunched as she dug through it looking for a novel that she was supposed to have read for her upcoming English class. It was a well-known fact that Quinn was far from neat. The locker itself was a mess; old assignments littered the bottom of it, with books stacked on top and several other random items included in its depths. On the inside of the door was a large rainbow patch taped to the metal, an old picture of Quinn and Santana sitting on the stoop of Quinn's trailer and making silly faces, and two stickers – one for Pearl Drums and the other for Zildjian cymbals. Both had been swiped by a fourteen year-old Santana from a local music store in order to prove her ever-increasing badassery.

Quinn pulled back from the endless pit that was her locker and found herself eye-to-eye with one of the few Asian kids that attended McKinley – also, the only gothic Asian that Quinn had ever known. Her eyes flickered from the rips and chains on the girl's clothes up to her blue-streaked black hair, and then finally to her warm brown eyes. She smiled in greeting.

"Hey, Tina. Sup?" She turned back to her locker and furrowed her brow, once again reaching a hand into it to try and find the missing novel.

"I w-was wondering, Quinn, if you could help me with s-some homework or tutoring since you're so g-good at history and stuff." Tina shuffled her feet, her grip tightening nervously on the shoulder strap of her black, patch-spotted messenger bag.

Quinn finally found the novel (stuffed in a Star Wars folder which was wrapped in her Sunnydale High hoodie) and shoved it into her bag. She turned back to Tina with a bright smile. "Sure, I'd love to. I might ask you for some math help in return, though. Only damn subject I just can't understand."

Tina giggled. "O-okay. Is today after s-school at my house okay?"

"Sure, only thing I'd be doing is hangin' out with S, so yeah, that'll work." Quinn slammed her locker shut and slung her bag over her shoulder, a light smile still on her lips. Tina and she were not best friends or anything, but the goth girl was nice and Quinn was more than happy to help her out.

"Oh, a-also, do you think I, um, c-could maybe sit with you at lunch today? My b-brother is home sick and I don't really h-have anyone else… I just, I wouldn't ask permission but I d-don't want Santana to k-kill me..." Tina looked down at her feet, clad in three-inch black platform boots. "She… she k-kind of scares me," she whispered.

Quinn's smile, which had dimmed at Tina's predicament, now brightened back up again. She chuckled. "Yeah, of course you can. Don't worry about S – between you and me, she's a fuckin' pussycat – but I can't guarantee that Puck will behave. Just a warning." The blonde's smile grew.

Tina smiled brightly in return and Quinn absentmindedly wished she would smile more – she was super cute when she did. "Okay. I guess I'll s-see you at lunch, Quinn."

"Totes. See ya, T." Quinn turned from Tina and started to walk down the hallway, wondering what she could pull out of her ass in order to sufficiently bullshit whatever questions she would be asked about the novel in her next class.

She heard it before she saw it – the splash of icy corn syrup, the laughs and jeers of the crowd, and the stunned silence of the victim.

Quinn walked up and pushed through the throng of people in the hallway to find the latest victim of McKinley's infamous slushie attacks.

Artie Abrams sat in his wheelchair, covered in icy green slush. He was the only kid in a wheelchair at McKinley but the kids there were almost soulless; they treated him like any other loser. Quinn looked around for who had perpetrated the attack, but they never dwelled long after to admire their handiwork.

Frowning, the blond paused for a minute before striding up to Artie and grabbing the handles of his chair. She began to push him towards the nearest girls' bathroom, her lips drawn in a thin line.

Artie looked backwards and up. "Quinn? What are you doing? You don't have to help me…"

"I know. But I am," Quinn replied, her gaze stony and unmoving. She pushed him into the bathroom and glared at the group of stunned girls occupying it. The blond nodded her head back at the door. "Get out."

The girls paused, but they did know who Quinn was. The blond was small and skinny and usually far from intimidating, but at this moment and with the look on her face, they were scared shitless and did not fancy the possibility of becoming acquainted with Quinn's fists or her Doc Martens.

They fled and Quinn locked the door once the last girl tripped out into the hallway. She rolled Artie over to one of the sinks.

"Take off your sweater vest," she ordered him. He complied and she put it in one of the sinks, scrunching up her nose as it was the hardest hit. "I'm sorry to say this but I think it's ruined."

"It's okay." Artie shakily reached up and took his glasses off, placing them on the edge of one of the sinks. Quinn wet down a bunch of paper towel and handed it to him so he could wipe off his face, while she used another bunch to gather up the slushie in his hair.

Artie sighed once he got off as much of the slushie as possible. "I don't understand why they do that."

Quinn set her jaw. "They're assholes. That's why. They prey on the weak and get off on the power."

"Have _you_ ever been slushied?" he asked, spinning his chair around a bit to face her.

Quinn nodded and leaned against a sink. "Yeah. Once, sometime last year. It's like being bitch-slapped by an iceberg, yeah? Anyway, I stood there covered in grape slushie and Santana ran after the kid who did it, just _screaming_ in Spanish. She jumped on his back and yanked out a fistful of his hair while her other fist got his nose," the blond explained, her chest puffing out in pride. "He pulled her off and threw her into the lockers, but she crawled right over and bit into his leg. She drew a ton of blood, too."

Artie stared. "Holy shit. Did they…?"

"Santana got suspended for a week and the asswipe who slushied me got two weeks' worth of detention."

"Wow."

Quinn grinned, a corner of her mouth lifting up into a bit of a smirk. "Yeah. Santana's… she's pretty damn awesome."

Artie shook his head. "Yeah. And then you totally beat up all those guys that jumped her last year, didn't you?"

Quinn nodded. "Sure did." She smiled softly at Artie, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. "S and I have each other's backs. Have for ages."

Artie glanced down, a frown on his lips. "I wish I had someone like that."

"You will, someday." She sighed. "You good?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Oh, by the way… do you know Tina Cohen-Chang…?"

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, she's a friend. I was actually talking to her right before…" She gestured towards the door to the hallway.

Artie smiled and winced a bit, looking down and back up to Quinn's hazel eyes a couple times. "Um…do you think you could put in a word for me with her, maybe…? I'd just, I'd die if I told her myself…"

Quinn chuckled, smiling knowingly. "Sure. You guys would be a cute couple."

Artie blushed and glanced down at his immobile legs. "Thanks, Quinn."

"No prob, Art." She grabbed a hold of the handles of his wheelchair and wheeled him out of the bathroom, smiling lightly. Today wasn't too terrible, besides the normal assholes and thugs, she reasoned.

* * *

><p>"So I'm like, on top of her and just markin' up her neck and groping her chest and she's just moanin' and moanin' for me, for my-"<p>

"Puck. Shut the fuck up. I like knowing that my bro is getting' some, but I do nots need to hear the details," Santana interrupted, a hand held out to aid her in cutting him off.

Puck frowned, his expression dampening. "What the fuck, S. You tell me all the goddamn details whenever you get some pussy."

Santana rolled her eyes, turning her head to look at him. "Yeah, but that's because you _like_ hearing them."

He grinned, which was soon joined by a smirk. "Fuck yeah I do. Thinkin' about you and another girl, shit, that's the best fuckin' wet dream ever."

Santana whipped out her fist and punched Puck in the shoulder. "If I ever hear that you thought about me while jerking off again, I will personally break your dick."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, leaning his elbows on the table. They were sitting outdoors in the quad waiting for Quinn and whoever else showed up. "It's still hot, though."

"Uh, _yeah_," Santana affirmed, almost as if it was common knowledge. She knew how to treat the girls that she routinely bedded; and had quite the reputation for being excellent – as well as a firecracker – in bed. She kind of shared this reputation with Quinn, who did not seek girls out as much as Santana did, but was known for being gentle, yet very good with her calloused yet surprisingly soft hands. "I actually haven't gotten any in a while, when you think about it."

"You losing your edge?" Puck questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Santana scoffed, looking semi-offended. "Of course not. Puckerman, I _am_ the fuckin' edge." She nodded, almost as if she needed self-assurance. In truth, she wasn't too bothered with girls at the moment; only one had been on her mind, and she was the only one Santana wanted. When she thought about Brittany, about being in a bed with her and touching her long, irresistible legs and just gazing into those beautifully slanted azure eyes, their skin touching… she would grow extremely warm and develop a brutal, burning ache down in between her legs. Needless to say, Santana tried not to think about Brittany too often for fear of becoming extremely horny in public places.

"Sure." Puck smirked and took a drink of his outrageously large and manly energy drink.

"Hey," Quinn murmured as she arrived, Tina at her side. She took the seat next to Santana and let her bag drop to the ground, while Tina sat on her other side and as far away from Puck as possible.

"Q. Tina." Santana nodded, throwing a brief smile in Tina's direction. Santana leaned into Quinn, putting her head on her best friend's shoulder. Quinn hummed in contentment and reached down into her bag to grab her lunch. "S'wrong, S?"

"Tired. And Fuckerman is questioning my skills with the ladies."

"Can you blame me? She hasn't fucked a girl in weeks. By the way, you two look like a fuckin' couple," Puck replied, raising an eyebrow at the two of them. Tina was quiet as she ate her sandwich but paid close attention to the conversation.

Santana glared at him but didn't sit up. "Don't be gross. We're just comfortable with expressing our friendship physically." Quinn nodded and bit into her sandwich.

"Uh huh. Though… you two would just be so super hot together."

Quinn choked and started coughing while Santana sat up and started gagging. "Fuckin' _gross_, Puckerman! Q's a babe and all, but we're like goddamn sisters!"

Quinn finally swallowed and beat her chest. She coughed again and shook her head. "Likewise. That's just… wrong."

Puck shrugged. "Just sayin'."

"Yeah, well, your 'just sayin' is revolting," Quinn responded. She shuddered at the thought of being with Santana like… _that_.

"Satan! Nerdbray!"

Santana groaned and Quinn face-palmed before reluctantly peeking through her fingers.

Mercedes Jones strode up to their table and leaned down on it, staring at Santana and Quinn. "You two are some goddamn playas, you know that? You bettah explain yo'selves before I get up in yo' grill!"

Quinn sighed heavily and frowned. "Explain what, 'Cedes?"

"Don't chu act innocent with me, Fab. My brother's friend's cousin saw you two chattin' it up with two supposedly _fine_ girls the other day at Willy's." She moved her head to the side abruptly and stared at them expectantly. She continued, "He said that they had a goddamn _Porsche_ and there was an Anderswood bumper sticker on it! What the _fuck_ do you two think you're doin' with those stuck-up bitches?"

"Hey!" Santana stood up at her seat, staring down Mercedes. Her nostrils flared and Mercedes could almost see the whites of her eyes. Quinn had dropped her sandwich and was rigid, giving the fashionable black girl her most dangerous glare.

Puck stiffened up, glancing between the three of them. "Oh shit," he murmured. "S, that true? Why didn't you tell me…"

"Shut up," Santana spit out, her eyes not moving off of the diva and their sometimes-friend. "They're _not_ stuck-up bitches," she said through her teeth.

Mercedes straightened up, a smug smile appearing on her lips upon getting such a reaction out of Santana and Quinn. She took a seat at the table and looked at her nails. "Well, then, Satan, you best explains the sitch to me before I spread it around the school like wildfire."

Santana's face paled, as did Quinn's – making her skin even more ghost-like than it already was.

"Fine," Santana bit out, leaning back and crossing her arms across her chest with a huff. Quinn narrowed her eyes at Mercedes and laid her arms on the table.

"I am _all_ ears, Satan."

"Okay, _Wheezy_. Q and I were chillin' at Will's, like any other fuckin' day, and we're jammin' and shit, and next thing we know there's these two girls."

Quinn nodded, and added, "Your bro's...whatever was right too. They were hot as all hell."

Santana smirked and nodded in affirmation. "Anyways. They were lost in 'Jacent and we gots to know 'em a bit."

"We had a jam sesh with them. The one can fuckin' sing," Quinn added.

"And the other is this tall dancer with these legs that I just want to lick for-"

Quinn cleared her throat and threw her best friend a look.

"But yeah. We jammed with 'em and it was pretty badass. Then we gave them directions and they left." Santana hurriedly finished, her eyes challenging Mercedes to question their story.

"The end," Quinn added, picking her sandwich back up and taking a bite nonchalantly.

Mercedes stared at the two of them with narrowed eyes. She leaned back, looking skeptical. "S'all that happened?"

Santana nodded. "'Fraid so. Not so much the gossip you wanted, huh, Wheezles?"

Puck frowned, resting his chin on his hand. "You didn't get their digits or anything?'

Quinn swallowed, a frown upon her lips. "Negative, Puckzilla. We didn't think about it. And 'sides, I don't know if they would have given them to us."

Santana turned to her best friend. "Oh, you _know_ Brittany would have given me hers. Rachel, though… Midget's got a stick up her-"

Quinn glared at Santana and haughtily replied, "I probably could have gotten it if I had asked. She kept giving me this look…" The blonde's eyes glazed over as she brought up the memory of Rachel – a memory which had been frequenting Quinn's mind an awful lot.

"Yeah well, Brittany was _allll _over me."

"Yeah, when she _hugged_ you!" Quinn cried out. "I bet she hugs _everybody_ like that."

"Whatev, Q. She wanted me." Santana straightened up and flipped her silky black hair over her shoulder, her focus moving away from her best friend in an 'I'm superior' kind of way.

Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved the rest of her sandwich in her mouth, chewing furiously.

"Not only do you two look like a couple, but you fuckin' bicker like one, too!"

"Shut up, Puckerman!" Santana and Quinn yelled simultaneously. He held up his hands in surrender but had a large smirk on his lips.

"Again, just sayin'. Anyway-"

"You two gonna try 'n' see 'em again?" Mercedes questioned, her brow raised and her lips pursed. She completely ignored the indignant glare directed towards her from Puck.

Quinn sighed and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "We'd love to, but unless we creep around North Lima and pretty much stalk them, there's really no chance. They were lost when we met them. There's no way they'd end up down this way again."

Santana nodded her assent, a frown upon her lips. "I'd give up my autographed mint condition vinyl of Jay-Z's _Reasonable Doubt_ to see her again," she murmured. Quinn raised an eyebrow at this; if Santana was willing to give up one of her most prized possessions to see Brittany again, then she really had it _bad_ for the tall blond.

"Y'know… I do have connections," Puck said slowly. "I could have someone find out for you two where they hang or somethin', so you don't have to be creepers and do it yourself."

Santana looked at Quinn. Quinn looked at Santana. Both pursed their lips in thought.

After a moment, Quinn sighed and turned to gaze sadly at her mohawked bro. "Nah, but thanks Puck. Still feels stalkerish."

Santana nodded in agreement, her expression downcast. While they would love to see Brittany and Rachel again, going to such lengths as to track them down (and quite possibly in semi-illegal ways) would be overstepping boundaries. Also, there was the fact that the residents of North Lima did not take too kindly to Lima Heights Adjacent and Lima Industrial kids wandering through their immaculate neighborhoods.

"You bitches are so depressin'," Mercedes droned, currently inspecting her rhinestone-studded nails. "What are you alls' plans this weekend?"

Santana shrugged. "The mall? Same as usual."

Quinn mimicked her best friend's shrug. "Fine with me. I wanna pick up Tegan and Sara's new album. Nothing'll beat _The Con_, and I love me some _Sainthood_, but-"

"Fabgay. I love you, but you're lesbian'ing all over the place," Santana interrupted. Quinn promptly shut her mouth, a bashful expression descending over her features.

"Sorry."

"Mall works for me," Mercedes input, her eyes on Santana. There was a challenge contained in them; she was daring Santana to object to her hanging out with them. The two of them weren't good friends, but they had a decent respect-of-sorts for one another. This was due to Mercedes' brother having been a good friend of Mario's, and one of the only Sols Locos' members to leave the Lopez family alone after Mario abandoned the gang

Santana stared at her for a second before waving a hand carelessly. "Whatevs, Wheezy. Just don't be gettin' in my ways, you hear?"

Mercedes scoffed and rolled her dark brown eyes. "Like I'd care enoughs 'bout you to even make a fuckin' effort." She got out her phone and started texting, apparently disinterested in whatever direction the conversation would take.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned to Tina, who had been listening to the conversation with apt attention. The blond smiled warmly at the gothic girl. "Exciting times at McKinley High, huh?"

Tina smiled shyly and shrugged. "Heh, yeah. I hope you g-get to see Rachel and Brittany again."

Quinn nodded, a small frown masking her smile for a second. "Me too, T. Me too. Oh! What do you know about Artie Abrams?"

Tina's eyes flickered down to the table, then back up to Quinn. She blushed lightly. "I don't really k-know him very well… we've t-talked a little bit, and he's n-nice…"

Quinn smirked. She nudged Tina with her elbow. "Well. Rumor has it that Mr. Abrams thinks that you, Ms. Cohen-Chang, are super cute."

Tina hid her face in her hands, her cheeks growing incredibly warm. "He d-does?" she questioned timidly, peeking out through her hands.

The blond nodded enthusiastically. "Yep. Well, that's what I _heard_, at least, but it has to be true. He is right, though, you know."

The gothic girl took her hands away from her face, a small grin upon her lips. She furrowed her brow. "Right about w-what?"

Quinn chuckled. "That you're super cute. 'Cause you are." She leaned over and playfully nudged Tina again with her elbow, her smile bright, which caused the girl's face to heat up even more. "But seriously, T, you should ask him out. He's super nice and pretty cute. Hey! Why don't you come with us to the mall this weekend and ask him to go along?" She wiggled her eyebrows at the gothic girl, her hazel eyes mischievous.

Tina giggled somewhat bashfully, her eyes shyly glancing up at Quinn. "O-okay. I think I will. T-thanks, Quinn."

"No probs, T. Always happy to help a friend get some."

The tips of Tina's ears turned bright red, as did the rest of her face.

"So hey, are you goin' to Marco's next weekend?" Puck asked Santana, his brow arched. "Prize money's about five-hundred bucks this time 'round. That could buy you a couple new fancy-ass pairs of Nikes."

Santana pursed her lips and looked down under the table at her current pair of hi-tops which were getting slightly beat up. "Yeah, I was thinkin' about it. Don't think I'd win, though – those guys can lay down some serious rhymes. Plus, I'd be the only fuckin' girl."

Puck scoffed. "What the fuck, Lopez, that's never stopped you before!"

"Yeah, I know. I dunno, I'll think 'bout it. You 'member, though, I went the one time and pretty much got fuckin' booed off the stage, yeah?"

Puck ran his hand over his mohawk, his gaze moving down to the table. "Yeah… but that was like a year ago! You should fuckin' go. Afterwards they're just gonna spin some chill beats and fuck, there'll probs be some hotass babes there too! So even if you don't win the competition, you could at least win some _pussay_," he drawled, his lips upturned in a wicked smirk.

Santana grinned, but her heart sank at the thought of hooking up with someone other than Brittany. She gritted her teeth and willed herself to move on, because she was probably never going to see her again, damn it.

"Heh. Okay, yeah. Sure. But I ain't givin' you no cut of it if I win, so don't even ask, Fuckerman."

Puck pouted, and Santana sighed inwardly. No, she wouldn't be seeing Brittany again, nor would Quinn be seeing Rachel.

Unless, they happened to be in the right place at the right time again.

* * *

><p>They moved with precision around the room, but with grace. Their movements were fluid, arms and hands and legs and feet moving succinctly. They mirrored each other and danced to the beat of the hip hop song, their bodies reflected in the glass that paneled one wall of the dance studio – one of many at Anderswood Performing Arts Academy.<p>

They were magnificent, their bodies' movements a masterpiece. The song ended, and Brittany found herself in her partner's arms, her spine bent in a dip.

She giggled happily and he helped her right-side-up again.

"That was awesome," Brittany said brightly, a smile upon her lips. She wiped at her sweaty brow; they had been dancing to an intense and quite long Girl Talk track.

Mike Chang smiled back at her and wiped his face on the sleeve of his tight-fitting t-shirt. "Yeah, totally. I think we finally have it down for the troupe's exhibition next week."

Brittany nodded and twirled over to their pile of stuff in the corner of the studio. It was after school hours; they had needed to practice a particularly difficult routine for an upcoming performance. It wasn't rare for them to do so, and they didn't mind doing it – dancing was in their blood.

Mike followed her, a small grin on his lips. He was tall and muscled, but his skinny frame was extremely flexible. Brittany might be the best female dancer at Anderswood, but he was the best male dancer, hands down. He was also quite handsome; his olive skin was flawless, and accented with a ruffled head of black hair along with kind brown eyes.

He took a seat on the wooden floor across from her and spread out, his long legs laid out in front of him and his upper half supported by his hands. "Brit, can I ask you something?"

Brittany lowered the towel that she had been drying her sweaty face off with and nodded. "Of course, Mikey. You can ask me anything. Well, wait – I can't answer questions about Lord Tubbington's plans for world abomination, because he'd kill me if I told anyone."

Mike smiled and shook his head. He was used to his dance partner and good friend's random statements. Knowing her for a couple years, he knew how to decipher them and know what she meant. "No, not about those. Besides, I like you alive and I value my own life. No, Brittany – I understand if you don't wanna answer this, but are you bisexual?"

The blond scrunched her nose and furrowed her brow. "Bisexual? That's like being half-Lebanese, right?"

The boy let out a short laugh. "Yeah, exactly. It's liking both girls and guys."

Brittany shrugged, her expression turning thoughtful. She pulled up one of her knees to her chest and hugged it. "Yeah, I guess. Like, I love guys' abs, like… a lot. You have really nice abs and stuff, and I would totally make out with you, but we're like bros and it'd be weird. And yeah, if I see a pretty girl, I'd totally make out with her too and touch her boobs. I really like boobs, and girls are soft and they're really nice to kiss." She nodded resolutely. "So yeah, I guess I'm half-Lebanese."

Mike laughed. "I think you're maybe more than half, but that's totally fine. Anyway, why I asked – I heard you saw a really pretty girl the other day."

The blond frowned. "But I see pretty girls every day. More than once a day. One time I counted and there were like, fifteen or so. Maybe more. I think my mind lost the number, though…"

He grinned. "No, a specific pretty girl. The one from Lima Heights Adjacent?"

"Oh!" Brittany perked up, a smile blossoming upon her lips. "You mean Santana! She was totally awesome and rapped really good and stuff. She looked different than the girls here, but in a good way. I really, really wanted to kiss her and stuff. Wait – how do you know that? I didn't tell anyone, and I don't think Rachel told anyone. She doesn't want anyone to know about it. I guess she didn't want anyone to know that she got lost."

"I'm pretty sure she told Kurt," Mike explained. "And you know him, he immediately spread it around, the little punk."

"Aw, I like Kurt. His art and designs and stuff are really cool." Brittany shrugged. "I don't care that people know. It was really cool. We sang and Santana rapped and I danced. Oh and Quinn was drumming on buckets and she was awesome. I think Rachel wanted to kiss her like I wanted to kiss Santana."

Mike raised an eyebrow at this. "Really? I didn't know that Rachel liked girls. Isn't she dating Finn Hudson?"

"She never told me that she did, but sometimes I see her looking at their butts and stuff. Or I see her looking at their boobs but she tries to be sneaky about it. And she's not dating him, but he really, like, wants her to. She likes him but she kind of thinks he's a doofus." Brittany bit her lip and looked up at Mike, her expression serious. "I know I'm not very smart, but I kind of think he's a doofus, too."

"Yeah, not only that but he's also an uptight jerk with a rich and powerful daddy and an oversized ego," Mike muttered.

Brittany's eyes grew big and her gaze moved out to stare into space, a wistful expression on her face. "That sounds really good. I want an oversized ego, too. I'd put tons of syrup and butter and stuff on it. Oh, or maybe strawberries and whipped cream. It's so good and it's so much fun to lick off of things..."

".. what kinds of things?"

"Like, girls' stomachs and boobs."

Mike's cheeks grew warm and he shifted uncomfortably. "Ah. Yeah. Um. So Brit, what are you doing this weekend? Hanging with Rachel?"

"Yeah. She was talking about going to the mall. I think Claire's is having a sale or something, and you know how many headbands she likes to wear," Brittany responded. She started to pack up her stuff. "Do you wanna come with us? It'd be totally cool if you did. I don't really like going to Claire's with Rachel. She always makes me model the fake hair things and try on the little hats." Brittany made a face.

Mike laughed, completely believing Brittany. "Yeah, sure, if only to save you from the horrors of gaudy jewelry and feather boas."

They stood up and Brittany moved to hug Mikey. "Thanks bunches, Mikey. I love you like Rachel loves pretending that her hairbrush is a microphone."

"Wow. That's a lot!"

"Totally," Brittany replied, a wide smile on her face. They both hauled up their bags and slung them over their shoulders.

"Rachel's taking you home, right?"

"Yep. I have to wait a bit, though. I think she's dueling Kurt again and they always argue about points and stuff so it takes, like, forever."

* * *

><p>"<em>En garde<em>."

Two figures, clad in white uniforms and masks, returned to their starting stances on the fencing strip.

"_Allez_!"

The smaller of the two fencers advanced forward a couple steps, while the other retreated in sync. The advancing fencer paused for a second before stomping their foot suddenly and advancing forwards quickly. They lunged, left leg bent back straight, right leg bent at ninety-degrees with their foil pointed straight at their opponent but centimeters off from making a touch.

The other fencer reacted quickly and parried – knocking their opponent's sword out of the way. They then counterattacked, weaving their blade in and stabbing their opponent's chest. Their foil curved upwards with the hit, while the other fencer darted their blade in at the last second and stabbed their opponent's shoulder.

"_Arrete_!"

Both fencers looked to the left at their judge, frozen in position. He stared at them, at their form and the position of their foils. After a few seconds in thought, he nodded.

"_Point_, Berry! Ten-nine, Berry wins!"

Rachel stepped back and pumped her fist in victory. She pulled her mask off and wiped her sweaty brow with the sleeve of her white fencing jacket, a satisfied smile upon her lips.

Kurt Hummel pulled his own mask off, a scowl painted upon his face. Both he and Rachel moved forwards towards the other and shook hands.

"You got lucky. I want a rematch," he huffed. The petite boy pulled a neatly folded silk handkerchief out of the back pocket of his breeches and wiped off the glistening sweat on his porcelain-colored face.

Rachel shook her head. "I can't. Brittany has more than likely finished practicing with Mike, and I have things to do. Tough luck, Hummel."

She walked over to their pile of stuff – Kurt following her and dragging his feet – and set her foil and mask down on her guitar-shaped equipment bag. Rachel pulled off her glove and then unzipped her jacket. She shrugged it off, revealing her Anderswood Fencing Team t-shirt underneath, her perspiration apparent upon its fabric. The brunette pulled the suspenders of her breeches off of her shoulders before sitting down and starting to tug off her fencing shoes.

Kurt lowered himself down to the floor of the gymnasium and unzipped his pristinely white jacket. He looked up at Rachel, narrowing his eyes at her. "So. You told me about the flannel-wearing blond lesbian you met the other day, but we did not discuss the _true_ issue at hand."

Rachel looked up at him through her eyelashes and stiffened up, pulling off her other shoe. "Which is? I told you everything, Kurt, and then you proceeded to spread it all around the school. I would not be surprised if Dr. Sylvester even knows about it, in all honesty. Thank you for that, by the way," she spit out sarcastically.

"You're welcome, Rachel," Kurt replied cheekily. She threw a glare at him and he only shrunk back a little bit. The boy reached up and moved his matted bang to the side of his face before folding his hands and setting them down in his lap. "But seriously, Rachel. You act like no one notices, but I, being the somewhat flamboyant-"

Rachel scoffed.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her. "Okay, _very_ flamboyant, homosexual that I am, I am very good at recognizing certain… behaviors in others."

"Get to the point," Rachel snapped. She folded up her jacket and shoved it inside of her bag before doing the same to her mask. She then slid her foil into it and pulled out her black slip-on Adidas sandals – the kind used by every athlete, no matter what sport.

"Okay, then. I believe that you, Ms. Rachel Barbra Berry, are attracted to women and must be, at the very least, bisexual."

Rachel stared at Kurt, her eyes narrowing dangerously. He shrank back, swallowing loudly. She was silent for a minute before slowly replying. "No. Your gaydar must be off, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, because I'm straight. I'm pretty much dating your brother, don't you remember?"

"Key words being 'pretty much'", Kurt drawled. "You and I both know that you want nothing to do with his Neanderthal-like self. He is my brother from another mother, and I do love him, but let's face it – Rachel, he's an idiot."

Rachel looked away from him and stood up, slipping her stocking feet into her sandals. "Dating him is highly beneficial for me," she murmured. The brunette bent down and zipped up her bag before lifting it up and slinging it over her shoulder.

Kurt stood up, his eyes soft as he looked her over. His good friend and fellow fencer had a forlorn expression upon her features and an anxious glimmer in her eye. "Rachel," he addressed her softly, "it wouldn't be the end of the world if you liked girls. No one would really care, I mean, you have two dads and half the student population of this damn school is gay, anyway."

Her gaze flew up to his face, a warning look present in her expression. "Drop it, Kurt. I'm not" – she swallowed – "gay, okay? I like guys."

Kurt frowned sadly and crossed his arms. "Whatever you say, Rachel. What are you doing this weekend?"

"The mall with Brittany and no doubt Mike. Claire's is having a sale and I need some new headbands."

"Ah, of course."

"Shut up. Would you like to accompany us?"

"To the mall? Rachel, do you know _anything_ about me?"

The brunette girl rolled her eyes. "Right, sorry. I'll see you tomorrow, Kurt." Rachel began to walk towards the exit of the gymnasium.

"Bye, Rach. Think about what I said!"

She raised a hand in acknowledgement and as a final goodbye, scowling to herself. The brunette exited the gymnasium into the adjacent hallway and began to walk down it, passing painting after painting of contemporary student art on the walls.

"Rachel! Wait!"

Rachel stopped in her tracks and closed her eyes, counting to three in her head. She turned around and sighed before conjuring up a fake smile.

Finn Hudson jogged up to Rachel, his gym bag thumping against his side. He grinned widely, his abs showing through his gymnast's unitard, track pants covering his lower half. "Hey, Rachel."

"Hi, Finn," Rachel replied evenly. A blond boy with a mess of shaggy hair appeared next to him, a friendly smile upon his lips and his outfit identical to Finn's. Rachel nodded towards him. "Sam."

"Hi," Sam Evans replied softly, licking his lips out of habit.

"Rachel, is it true that you were in Lima Heights Adjacent?" Finn asked, his eyes showing both concern and alarm.

Rachel resisted the urge to roll hers. "Yes, Finn, I was. Brittany and I were trying to find a particular costume store to purchase a particular accessory for her performance next week and we happened to get lost. We acquired directions and were able to find it. It was not a cause for alarm."

"But you got directions from some weird thug girls or something? That's what I heard."

"Yes, we did. They were very helpful, even though one of them was a little less than friendly." Rachel rolled her eyes inwardly at the memory of Santana calling her less-than-savory names, though jokingly.

Finn scowled. "Rachel, that was really dangerous of you. You shouldn't have talked to them! They could have robbed you or raped you or _killed_ you!"

"Well, nothing like that happened, but thank you for your concern, Finn." Rachel sighed. This type of behavior from Finn was not a surprise. They were not dating, per se, but he was very protective of her and basically acted like she was his girlfriend.

Finn shook his head, his face flushed. "It's just… I care about you, Rachel. I worry about your safety. That area is terrible. My father told me that it's full of gangs and drive-bys and stuff like that!"

"I did not see evidence of any of that when we were there, but it is not surprising that it does happen due to the complete ignorance of the problems in that area by Lima's authorities and local politicians," Rachel ground out. "The two girls that Brittany and I met were friendly and did nothing but help us."

"Maybe they were trying to just lure you in," Finn argued.

"They were not. They were genuine, Finn. You were not present, so I would rather prefer if you would not make assumptions about the event." Rachel paused, wondering why she was suddenly defending Quinn and Santana. She did not know them – she only met them once. But Quinn… Rachel swallowed. She had never been attracted to anyone else as much as she was to Quinn in the couple minutes that they were together.

Finn ran his hand through his dull brown hair and frowned. "Sorry. I guess you're right. The important thing is that you're safe." He brightened up after a second. "Hey, we have a polo game up at my dad's stables this weekend, you should come!"

Rachel winced. "Sorry, I already have plans for Saturday."

"It's actually on Sunday. So there's no reason for you not to come." Finn smiled somewhat goofily, and Rachel had to admit that he _was_ cute in a puppy dog kind of way.

She sighed in defeat; in consolation, at least the horses were nice to look at. "Okay, I suppose I will try to make it."

"Cool! I know you have to take Brittany home and stuff, so I'll see you later, Rach." He moved forward and hugged her. Finn went to kiss her on the cheek, too, but Rachel moved her head at the last minute. She pulled away and took a deep breath; being hugged by Finn was like being squeezed by an overly affectionate yeti.

"Goodbye, Finn," she replied with a fake smile. Her gaze moved to Sam. "Bye, Sam."

The blond murmured a goodbye with a warm smile on his face, which turned Rachel's smile genuine. She preferred Sam over Finn, but the boy was so painfully shy and it didn't help that he followed Finn around like a shadow.

Rachel turned and walked down the hallway, exhaling heavily. Talking to Finn was akin to conversing with an egotistic door knob, but way more tiring. She turned the corner and found Brittany sitting on a bench and staring at her hand.

"Brit, what are you doing?"

Brittany glanced up and smiled, but her brow was contorted in puzzlement. "Hey, Rach. Have you ever noticed how weird hands are?"

"Uh, yes. Very weird. Are you ready to go?"

"Yep!" Brittany jumped up and grabbed her bag. They walked out of the building and to Rachel's Porsche. Brittany slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut, causing Rachel to wince; she was very protective of her baby, lovingly named Rosie. The brunette slid into the driver's seat and started up the car before pulling out of the school.

"Rachel?" Brittany suddenly asked, her gaze moving from staring out the window to her best friend.

"Yes, Brit?" Rachel kept her eyes on the road.

"Did you want to kiss Quinn the other day when we met her and Santana?"

Rachel startled and almost ran a red light. She was silent.

"You're not answering my question, Rach. Due to Lord Tubbington watching a lot of crime shows lately, I've learned that that means you're gullible and you did want to kiss her!" Brittany reasoned, a bright smile on her lips.

"Brittany…"

"What?"

"… nothing." Rachel gripped Rosie's steering wheel tighter and stared resolutely ahead, forcing her mind to think about anything other than Quinn Fuckin' Fabray.


	4. Chapter 4

"What the fuck, Shuest? That's total fuckin' bull and you know it!"

Will Shuester shrugged, a smug look upon his face. He folded his hairy arms across his pudgy vest-adorned beer belly and stood up straighter. "Say it, Santana, or yours and Quinn's slushies won't be so free of charge anymore."

Santana glared daggers at the older man that stood behind the counter of the Stop 'n' Go. She stared at him for a full minute before hiking her nose up into the air and grinding out, "The 80s were musically better than the 90s."

"Now, was that so hard?"

"You fuckin' _know_ that the 90s were better, though! 2Pac and Notorious B.I.G and fuckin' Lauryn Hill with her five goddamn Grammys!" She rolled her eyes at him, leaning down on the counter. "You just like the 80s because that's when fucking _Journey_ were in their goddamn glory days." She gestured towards the stereo behind the counter, which was currently blasting 'Any Way You Want It'. "That shit is so overrated, Shuest. Seriously."

Will narrowed his eyes at the young rapper. "Santana," he ground out in a warning tone.

The brunette rolled her eyes yet again, a smirk gracing her lips. "Yeah, yeah, you'll take away our free slushies."

"I'll also ban you for life, so watch it."

"Just me?"

"Just you. _Quinn_ appreciates the musical prowess that is Journey."

"Oh c'mon, she just says that 'cause Q's a fuckin' suck up!" Santana scoffed. She shook her head, acting exasperated. Will would not actually kick her out, as they bickered frequently, but he did take it personally when someone insulted his favorite band of all time – which Santana often did.

"Maybe, but she still appreciates good music," he shot back, a smug smirk upon his lips.

Santana glared at the hidden insult. "Whatevs, Will. Q and I can always move down to the Seven-Eleven, y'know."

Will scoffed. "_Please_. That jerk wouldn't let you sit out on the sidewalk and jam for more than five minutes without threatening to shoot you both with the sawed-off shotgun he keeps underneath the counter."

The wannabe rapper sighed and lowered her eyes down to the scratched and pitted countertop. "Truth. You're pretty dope, Shuest."

"Sorry, what was that?"

Santana glared and Will laughed. "Thanks, Santana. You're _dope_, yourself." The bell on the door to the convenience store jingled and Will looked up to acknowledge the new customer, a smile on his lips.

Brittany looked around the run-down store with wide eyes before focusing her gaze on the counter, Will, and the sight of Santana's unmistakable back side.

"Santana!"

The raven-haired rapper froze and barely had time to breathe before strong, pale arms wrapped around her middle from behind. Warm breath hit her ear and neck, causing her to grow immediate goosebumps.

"I'm so glad you're here, because if you weren't I don't know what I would have done."

Will smiled cheekily and raised an eyebrow at Santana. She scowled and gave him a good glare before gently pulling Brittany's arms off of her; her pulse raced and her throat was suddenly dry from the girl's appearance. She slowly turned around and found the blond-haired, blue-eyed dancer inches from her.

Santana's barely-there breath hitched. She closed her eyes briefly and stepped backwards until her back was pressed up against the counter. She swallowed. "H-hey, Brits. Sup? What're you doing here?"

Brittany grinned. "I really wanted to see you again. I wasn't really sure how to get here again, so I just took the bus until I got to Lima Heights Adjacent."

Santana paled. "You took the bus here?"

"Yeah… there were some interesting people on it, especially as I got closer."

The brunette grimaced. "Yeah, I bet," she murmured. Her eyes found Brittany's and she almost looked away, too affected by them to have much in the way of brain activity. She shook her head, forcing her eyes off of the blond. "So you wanted to see me again…?"

"Totally. You're really cool, Santana." Brittany's smile faded slightly as her face took on a more sincere look. "And you rap really good."

Santana's cheeks reddened. "Heh, thanks Brits. It's nothin' compared to your dancing, though."

"Thanks!" Brittany smiled brightly and Santana's stomach pulled in at the sight. Shit, she had only met the girl once and she was already head-over-heels for her.

Truth be told, it scared her shitless.

Santana swallowed. "So…"

"Do you want to hang out?" Brittany asked eagerly. Her eyes sparkled and Santana's breathing grew extremely shallow. She clenched her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palms, trying to rein in her rampant emotions.

"Uh, yeah, sure…"

Will cleared his throat and Santana looked over her shoulder. "Oh, sorry. Will, this is Brittany Pierce. Brittany, this is Will Shuester. He owns the Stop 'n' Go."

Brittany nodded, her smile still bright. "Hi. I like your store – it's cute. Do you sell Ring Pops?"

Will blinked and stared at her before nodding slowly. "Yeah… they're over there with the rest of the candy." He pointed and Brittany grinned before wandering off to peruse the selection of what looked like pure sugar. Will's eyes followed her – moving up and down her lean, muscular figure covered in loose sweats – before traveling back to Santana. "She seems… nice."

Santana glared. "Q and I met her and this other girl, Rachel, the other day when we were jamming outside. They go to Anderswood."

"Wow." Will squinted over at Brittany. "She's a… dancer?"

The brunette nodded and turned to stare at the girl. Her eyes softened and she sighed. "I'd ask how you could tell, but that's the only reasonable explanation when the girl's got legs like that…"

"It's a good thing you can't get her pregnant."

Santana snapped her head back to Will and glared at him, her dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "Good luck."

"Thanks," the young rapper murmured. She watched as Brittany walked back to the counter clutching a red Ring Pop in her hand. She moved to set it on the counter and dig into her pocket, but Will waved his hand.

"On the house."

Brittany frowned. "What?"

"It's free," Will explained. He smiled kindly at the blond but watched Santana out of the corner of his eye.

"Oh! Thanks, Will!" Brittany replied happily. She snatched back the Ring Pop and turned to Santana. "So can we hang out or do you have something to do…" Her joyful expression faded slightly at the thought.

Santana shook her head hurriedly. "No! No, Brits, I've got nothin' to do. We can totally hang out." The brunette smile at the blond and threw Will a grateful look before saying goodbye to him and leading a beaming Brittany outside.

The blond looked around at the store's bleak surroundings. The trailer park sat to the Stop 'n' Go's left while a vacant strip mall was located to its right. The land across the road was dotted with several small, run-down homes, their roofs missing a few shingles and their paint jobs horribly chipped.

Santana swallowed and cringed at seeing the appearance of a small frown on Brittany's lips. She cleared her throat and went to speak, but Brittany turned to her and spoke up before she could utter a word.

"Where's your house?"

"Uh." Santana bit her lip and snuck a quick glance to her left, towards Sunset Meadows. "Um… it's, well, it's close, but we don't wanna go there, Brits. My parents don't really like when I have people over."

Brittany's excited look faded. "Oh. Then where can we hang out?"

Santana thought for a moment before smiling. "There's a small park 'bout ten minutes away. Sound good?"

"Are there ducks there?" Brittany asked, visibly brightening.

"Uh, yeah, maybe. There's a pond, I know." Santana shrugged and Brittany bounced lightly on the balls of her feet.

"Cool. Where is it?"

Santana gestured. "This way. Keep close, 'kay?"

Brittany nodded and two began to walk along the sidewalk. Santana stayed on the outside next to the street, her dark eyes narrowed and darting about. The street was quiet for the most part, however.

Santana looked over at the dancer who was trying to open up her Ring Pop. She struggled with the noisy plastic, her nose scrunched up in frustration. Santana hid a tiny grin at how damn _cute_ the blond was. "Hey – lemme help." She reached her hand out.

Brittany huffed cutely and handed the candy over to the brunette who swiftly tore open the plastic. She stopped in her tracks, Brittany copying her, and dug out the ring before grabbing the blonde's hand. She swallowed and ignored the tingles that the contact gave her before sliding the candy ring onto Brittany's finger. She grinned and they started walking again.

"Thanks Santana," Brittany said softly, a happy grin upon her lips. "Oh! You need a nickname. You call me 'Brits', which I like, so I need to call you something else. Not that I don't like your name – I do, a lot – but everyone needs a nickname."

Santana giggled.

She _giggled_.

Santana Lopez, A.K.A. S'Lopez the Badass Motherfucker and Future Rap Star of the Slighted Lopez Family who has Quinn Fuckin' Fabray as a Sidekick, does _not_ giggle.

The young rapper cursed Brittany's cuteness and murmured, "You can call me anything you like, Brits."

"Awesome. I think… I like San. It's not really creative or anything, but I think it fits. Oh, or Sanny! I like that, too. It's cute. Just like you. You're cute," she clarified.

Santana's olive cheeks turned a lovely shade of dark red and her stomach erupted in butterflies.

"You're also really, really pretty."

Oh _god_. The brunette wanted to crawl into a hole and just _die_.

"Um. Uh."

Brittany turned her head to look at Santana, a light smirk completing her amused expression. Santana looked to her side and caught Brittany's eye. She immediately looked away, blushing even more. The brunette stopped, glancing to her right.

"Oh hey, look, we're here. Kickassery. Look, there's the pond."

Brittany perked up and grabbed Santana's hand (the brunette in question shivered at the sudden tingles that ran up and down her arm) and dragged her into the park excitedly. It was small and the playground equipment and various tables and benches were covered in colorful graffiti, but it wasn't too terrible-looking given its location. A few pieces of trash littered the grass and the pond didn't look too pretty, but Brittany didn't seem put off.

She pulled Santana over to the pond and squealed excitedly when she saw that a lone duck occupied it. She sat at the bench next to the body of water and leaned forwards to call out to the duck.

"Here, Mr. Duck! Ducky! C'mere!"

Santana smiled softly and sat next to Brittany. She sighed, content to watch the blond dancer try to charm the duck into making her acquaintance.

Brittany continued for a minute or two before huffing and leaning back on the bench, obviously unsuccessful. She turned to look at Santana and smiled lazily before starting to suck on her Ring Pop.

The brunette sitting next to her simply stared at Brittany's mouth, absolutely transfixed.

Brittany pulled the Ring Pop out of her mouth after a minute with an audible '_POP!'_ and turned to pull her legs up on the bench and sit Indian-style facing Santana. Her bright blue eyes traveled all over the brunette's face and Santana squirmed slightly, her cheeks growing a little dark.

"Why do you talk the way you do?" Brittany asked curiously after a minute of observing Santana.

The rapper furrowed her brow. "Whadya mean, Brits?"

"Like, your… slang. The way you say things. It's like, what do they call it, ghetto?"

"Oh." Santana looked away, frowning slightly. "Uh, it's just how I was raised. The place I live in is kinda – I guess I'll use your word – _ghetto_. I grew up with it, with the rap and the hip-hop and the way of," she held up her hands and did air-quotes," _thug_ life."

Brittany's nose scrunched. "Thug life? That's like, guns and fighting and gangs, isn't it?"

Santana swallowed and looked over at the duck, not knowing how to answer Brittany's question without opening up to her completely.

The dancer gasped. "San, you're not in a _gang,_ are you?" She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at the brunette.

Santana's eyes widened dramatically."No! No, no, no, Brits. No. I'm not. I'm…" She sighed, her gaze darting all over before settling on Brittany's face. "My brother was in one. _Sols Locos_. It pretty much runs my neighborhood."

A deep frown settled upon Brittany's face. "He _was_? Is he gone? Did he… did he-" she winced and her voice lowered, "did he _die_?"

Santana shook her head swiftly. "No. _Dios, _no. He got out of the gang. He's in the Army… we haven't heard from him in a really long time."

"Oh." Brittany looked at her with sad eyes. "That really sucks, San. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Brits," Santana responded softly. She looked back over at the duck that was aimlessly swimming around the pond and quacking to itself.

They were silent for a few minutes, just watching it paddle around, before Brittany spoke up again, bearing an inquisitive look that was directed towards Santana.

"Isn't it really hard to get out of a gang? I watched that _Scarface_ movie with Rachel and her dads and I had nightmares for weeks. I had to lock Lord Tubbington in my room so he would cuddle with me and I'd feel better. He wasn't too happy about it, though."

"Why the hell would she let you watch that with her? Jesus Christ, Brits, that midget friend of yours needs some sense kicked up her singin' ass. And yeah, it's hard. Way hard."

"But your brother did it?"

"Yeah." Santana smiled grimly. "He did. He got into a really bad fight and _mamí_ – my mom – made him promise to get out. And he succeeded," she added quietly, "but not without consequences."

"That's when bad things happen because of something you do, right?" Brittany asked, trying to understand.

"Yeah, Brits. Bad things."

Brittany was quiet for a moment before inquiring quietly, "what kinds of things?"

Santana swallowed and paused a minute. She realized that she was already knee-deep in opening up to Brittany.

She didn't fucking do this. She only opened up to her mom and Quinn, sometimes Puck – not some girl that she's only seen twice. She was slightly alarmed at how quickly she had come to trust Brittany, and deep down, it terrified her. The girls that she was interested in, that she saw – she didn't "date" – were for making out and sometimes, sex. She was a player, she knew that, but it was not really a conscious decision; she just didn't trust easily, a trait which was essential when one lived in Lima Heights Adjacent.

Santana swallowed, forcing down the sudden lump in her throat, and exhaled shakily.

"They didn't like that Mario abandoned them. They took it out on my family and me. Mostly me." She was staring resolutely at the duck and Brittany was staring at her with wide eyes. "They vandalized my house and left death threats. They followed me and Q when we walked to and from school with their Glocks pointed straight at us."

Brittany's breath hitched. She was silent. Santana continued.

"It's gotten better – it's been three years since Mar left. They keep wantin' me to join, though – they say it'll restore my family's rep."

"Rep?"

"Reputation. Our standing in the neighborhood. But I'm not going to." Santana stared straight ahead. "I'll never join them," she grounded out quietly.

"Why?" Brittany whispered. "If it would help…"

"Because." Santana turned to look at Brittany with a hardened gaze. The blond shrunk back slightly and Santana's look immediately softened. "I saw what it did to Mar. It made my dad drink himself into alcoholism and turned _mamí_ into a wreck whenever Mar was gone at night. He showed me his scars a couple times, and I saw him the night that he got into that big fight." She looked away from Brittany suddenly lest the blond see the growing wetness in her eyes. "He was covered in blood," she said softly, "not all of it his, but most of it was. He got knifed. _Mamí_ was sobbing and holding him, his head in her lap."

Brittany couldn't find any words to say, so instead she just reached out and laid her hand on Santana's thigh.

The brunette glanced down at it and rubbed at her eyes roughly with the sleeve of her hoodie. She cleared her throat. "I understood everything that night. And that night I knew that I _hated_ the gangs, that I fuckin' _hated_ this place."

Santana slowly raised her dark eyes to Brittany's face. "I want out so bad, Brits."

Brittany swallowed. She kept her hand on Santana's thigh, eventually drawing it back, and kept quiet for a few moments. "That's why you rap, isn't it? So you can get out."

"Yeah. And that's why Q drums like she does. Q could actually make it with her grades, but I can't. Even if I could, my family doesn't have the bucks for college. Q's mom doesn't really, either. So we have to find 'nother way out."

Brittany bit her lip and frowned before perking up. "You should go to Anderswood! Pretty much everyone who goes there leaves Lima after they graduate."

Santana turned her head to give the blond an incredulous look and let out a short, half-hearted laugh. "Yeah, but with what money, Brits? No offense, but you kinda have to be loaded to go there."

"Well I'm not loaded and I go there. I have a collarship to go there."

The brunette narrowed her eyes at Brittany in curiosity. "They give scholarships?"

"Yep. You and Quinn should try to get one! That would be so great. I could see you every day, San." The blond beamed at the idea.

Santana let a light smile appear on her lips as she let her dark eyes linger on Brittany's face. "Heh, yeah. You could. That'd be pretty dope."

"Dope? That's ghetto thug slang for cool, right?"

The rapper laughed. "Yeah."

"I like that." Brittany said with a grin. "You're really dope, San," the blond affirmed with a nod, her bright blue eyes sparkling.

Santana chuckled and felt her stomach fire up with butterflies. "Thanks, Brits. I'd say you're dope, too, but I can think of some better things to call you."

Brittany let a tiny, amused smirk appear on her lips. "Liiiike what, San?"

Santana turned to face Brittany fully, pulling up one of her legs onto the bench. She leaned her side against the back of it and draped her arm across the top. "Liiiike… the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my entire life."

She tensed up and held her breath, keeping her gaze on Brittany.

The dancer's fair cheeks blushed and her grin widened. Brittany's stunning sapphire-colored eyes sparkled with something Santana couldn't name, but rather felt. "Yeah?" She asked softly.

"Yeah," Santana replied as quietly. Shaking a little bit, the brunette reached her hand out and pushed a lock of Brittany's golden hair behind her ear. She ignored the shiver that ran through her upon completing the action and drew her hand back, but Brittany grabbed it before she could return it to her lap.

The blond turned it over in her own hands and gently traced the lines on Santana's palm. Santana fought the twitch that occurred due to Brittany's tracing tickling a little bit, but she held still, her bottom lip held tightly between her teeth and her breathing shallow.

Brittany continued to trace the life-lines on Santana's palm for a minute before turning it back over and bringing it up to her lips. She softly kissed the back of the rapper's hand.

Santana's breath hitched, a roaring started in her ears, and her eyes immediately shut upon feeling Brittany's exquisitely soft lips upon her skin.

"I like your hands," Brittany said quietly, lowering Santana's hand and surreptitiously scooting closer to the brunette. A light smile adorned her lips as she settled her gentle gaze on Santana.

"I like your existence," the love-stricken rapper breathed out in response. She felt as if her lungs couldn't possibly get enough air at the moment with Brittany so close and _still_ touching her. Santana moved her hand to grip the blonde's properly and intertwined their fingers.

It was like they _fit_; like her hand was created for the sole purpose of meshing perfectly with Brittany's.

Santana swallowed as Brittany slowly kept moving closer. Her heart hammered in her rib cage and she broke out in a light, barely-noticeable sweat. She couldn't take her widened eyes off of the blonde's blue orbs.

Brittany stopped when their faces were a few inches apart and tilted her head slightly. She looked into the brunette's eyes, her gaze searching.

"Can I kiss you, San?"

Santana felt like she had been punched in the stomach but in a _really_ good way. She stared at Brittany, absolutely speechless. This was not supposed to happen. Santana Lopez was not some silly love-struck girl that just lets other girls have their romantic way with her. _She_ was the romancer – or rather, the initiator.

If Brittany was any other girl, Santana would have her on her back and half-naked by now.

But this… this was not any other girl. This was _Brittany Pierce_, who Santana had fallen, and fallen _hard_, for.

Santana cleared her throat to try and reply to Brittany, but interestingly enough she couldn't make her mouth work. So, instead, she just nodded her consent.

Brittany leaned forward and ducked her head to gently connect her lips with Santana's.

Santana immediately wondered if she had suddenly died and gone to heaven. Brittany's lips were so, so soft and tasted like watermelon Lip Smackers. She had to remind herself to kiss the blond back due to her brain practically turning to mush.

When Brittany's tongue lightly pressed up against her lips to seek permission, Santana immediately obliged and parted them. The blonde's tongue dipped inside her mouth and ran across the inside of her top lip; a light shiver ran through Santana as she gently let her own tongue touch Brittany's and just about died when the dancer took it upon herself to deepen the kiss and lightly suck on it.

After a minute of gentle exploration with each other's mouths and tongues, Brittany took Santana's bottom lip in between her teeth and bit it lightly before breaking away. She smiled at the brunette softly, incredibly pleased.

Santana took a deep breath and closed her eyes, a little dizzy. "You're a good kisser," she mumbled, slightly embarrassed at her reaction to the kiss.

The blonde's smile turned into a full-on grin and felt her cheeks growing warm. "Thanks, San. You are, too." She looked down at their clasped hands and squeezed Santana's.

Her heart feeling like it was beating up in her throat, Santana squeezed back and smiled before sighing shakily. "Wow. Whoo. Okay." She shook her head to clear the blinding euphoria that Brittany's kiss apparently caused.

"I really want to do that again, actually," Brittany murmured, her bright indigo eyes settled gently on Santana. "But…"

"But?" Santana asked, her voice filled with confusion and slight panic.

"But," Brittany grinned, "I don't think I just want to kiss you."

The brunette stared and felt her heartbeat pick up in a second flat. "Then… what, Brits…" She swallowed. She had an idea of where Brittany was heading with this, but hoped to god that she was wrong.

"I want you," Brittany stated, staring into Santana's dark eyes. "I want you… to be with me. I know we just kinda met, but I feel like I…" She scrunched her brow and gestured with the hand that was not holding Santana's to try and help her explain. "I feel like I'm supposed to be. Is that weird?" The blond bit her lip, her eyes giving away her worry.

Santana's breath hitched at Brittany's confession. She pursed her lips, carefully deciding how she should answer. "No… I don't think it is. Not really. I…" Santana paused and was quiet a moment. "I kinda feel it too."

Brittany absolutely beamed and Santana's stomach pulled in at the sight of the blonde's sudden vibrancy – not that she wasn't vibrant before, but it was almost blinding in a way. Santana closed her eyes briefly to reorient herself before opening them again; she found Brittany gazing at her with soft, soul-seeking blue eyes and swallowed.

"So you'll be my girlfriend?"

Santana opened her mouth to speak before closing it again. She glanced to her side and found the duck sitting in the water at the edge of the pond; he was watching them attentively with black beady eyes. The side of Santana's mouth lifted up into a half smile before she turned back to Brittany and sighed somewhat. "I… I want to be, Brits, I do, but…"

"But what, San?" Brittany bit her lip, starting to look confused and a little hurt. Santana panicked internally and began to backtrack.

"I just, I don't think I'm… ready? I think I just need some time, Brits. But I do… I want to be your girlfriend, but not right this minute." Santana smiled timidly, the logistics of their potential relationship the farthest thing from her mind at the moment. "Okay?"

The blond frowned a little bit and looked down at her and Santana's clasped hands. She squeezed the other girl's hand lightly before looking back up and smiling shyly. "Okay. Do you promise, though, that we'll be together later?"

Santana once again opened her mouth, and then closed it – akin to a fish gaping for water amidst only air. She swallowed, and then nodded timidly. "Y-yeah, Brits. I, uh, I promise."

"Yay!" Brittany exclaimed, launching herself forwards. She wrapped her arms around Santana's neck and hugged her tightly.

The brunette tensed up but wrapped her own arms around Brittany a moment later. She buried her head in the crook of the blonde's neck and closed her eyes – in that moment, Santana swore that everything was perfect. Brittany smelled so very good, like a flower (jasmine, she thought, but she wasn't sure) and being surrounded by what seemed like miles of the girl's her soft, fair skin was absolute heaven.

They pulled back, but not before Brittany brushed her lips against Santana's cheek. The brunette gasped quietly, feeling as if the dancer had just branded her in ownership. She swallowed and smiled at Brittany shakily before glancing over the girl's shoulder. Her eyes widened before she dug in the pocket of her hoodie and tugged her phone out to check the time.

"Shit. When the hell did it get so late? C'mon, I need to get you back to the bus stop. I can't believe you fuckin' took it over here, jesus…" Santana stood up and pulled Brittany up, who grinned at her. The blond rearranged her grip on Santana's hand and allowed the brunette to lead her out of the park and to the bus stop.

"Where was Quinn when you were at the store? Isn't she usually with you?"

Santana chuckled and strode along the sidewalk, Brittany at her side. "Yep. She is. She was helpin' a friend out with homework or something – aw shit, I forgot to text her that we went to the park." The brunette pulled her phone back out and looked to see if she had any new messages; she didn't, oddly enough.

"Is she waiting for you?" Brittany asked curiously.

"Probably. Shit, hope she isn't mad. She didn't text me and cuss me out, though, which she usually does, the bitch. Weird."

"Maybe she got side-tracked, like you did with me," Brittany mused.

"Yeah, maybe."

* * *

><p>Well-worn Doc Martens danced along the concrete of the sidewalk, a spring in their wearer's step. Callous hands gripping wooden sticks moved in a blur, beating out a metallic beat.<p>

Quinn strode along the cracked and pitted pavement, her bag thumping against her back when her gait shifted into a skip. She hummed happily as her hands fluidly swung in motion, the drumsticks connected to them producing a beat as she hit them on the metal fence along the sidewalk. Her eyes were half closed – she was off in her own world, one full of nothing but a steady rhythm.

Studying with Tina had gone well and Quinn was now on her merry way to the bus stop. Tina's neighborhood was one of the better ones that were located just beyond the borders of both Lima Heights Adjacent and Lima Industrial. Thus, the blond street-drummer wasn't worried about anything bad happening to her until she stepped off of the bus at the stop that was located five minutes away from the Stop 'n' Go.

Quinn bopped her head along to the beat and spun around quickly without breaking it to add some flair to her performance. The tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips as she concentrated, her brow scrunched. The blonde's drumming picked up as Quinn upped the tempo and the ferocity of her hits.

The polished wood of one of Quinn's drumsticks suddenly splintered under the stress of her hits and broke clean off.

She stopped on a dime and stared down at the broken drumstick in her hand.

"God _damn_ it." Quinn exhaled sharply, her lips pursed. She held up her other hand and inspected the other stick, discovering that it too was a few good hits away from splintering. The blond growled and shoved them in her bag before starting to stomp down the sidewalk, her mood decidedly less merry than it had been a few short minutes ago.

She reached the bus stop and threw herself down on the bench beside it, her arms crossed over her chest. She sat there and scowled for a few minutes before her expression suddenly lightened.

Quinn stretched out on the bench to reach into the pocket of her tight, form-fitting jeans and dug out a twenty-dollar bill. She grinned, having forgotten that Puck had paid up today - she had bet him the other day that he couldn't chug a 32-ounce can of Monster in less than two minutes.

He hadn't made it in time, having thrown up three-fourths of the way through. Puck gave the excuse that he had had eaten something funky earlier in the day; Quinn had rolled her eyes at this while Santana helped clean him up – but only after finishing with her bout of hysterical, roll-on-the-floor laughter.

Feeling much happier, Quinn tucked the bill back in her pocket with a small smile and waited for the bus to take her to downtown Lima instead of Lima Heights Adjacent, her fingers drumming all the while on the bench's graffiti-covered wood.

* * *

><p>"Ah, Ms. Berry, nice to see you. I bet you're here about your order?"<p>

Rachel smiled at Mr. McMartin, the owner of McMartin's Music and Sound – the largest and most prestigious music store in Lima and its surrounding towns. "I am. Did it come in yet?"

"It did! Earlier today, actually. I might have opened it up and sneaked a peek," Mr. McMartin replied with a grin. He was very pleased to see the tiny singer, as she was one of his best customers. "It's really something. Let me go get it for you."

Rachel nodded. "Thank you, Mr. McMartin."

The larger, middle-aged man walked off to the back of his store, disappearing behind a door marked 'Employees Only' to retrieve Rachel's order.

Rachel leaned on the glass counter and let her eyes rove around the store even though she was here at least once a week. McMartin's sold everything and anything music – instruments, electronic equipment, sheet music – you name it and he would have it.

She sighed, slightly tired from the seemingly long length of her day. The brunette had taken Brittany home, quickly changed out of her fencing uniform, and made her way to downtown Lima hoping to get to the store before it got too late.

Mr. McMartin walked back into the storefront and behind the counter, carrying a small box. He set it down in front of Rachel and opened it, turning it around for her inspection.

Rachel's mouth moved into the shape of an 'O' as her eyes descended to stare at the item in the box. "Oh… it's so much more beautiful than I ever thought it would be." She reached into the box, pushing aside some padding, and pulled out a glimmering Swarovski crystal-encrusted Sennheiser microphone. The majority of it was covered in pink crystals with a large golden star made out of yellow crystals wrapped around its diameter. Rachel picked up the microphone and held it securely, as if she was afraid that the slightest movement would dislodge it from her grasp and cause it to fall and tragically mar its perfection.

"It is gorgeous, isn't it?" McMartin said with a smile. "They did an amazing job on it."

"They really did. Thank you so much for going to all the trouble to order it for me, Mr. McMartin," Rachel replied, her eyes still on her new microphone as she held it up and watched the fluorescent lights glint off of its crystals. She lowered it and grinned at him before carefully setting the microphone back in its box.

"Of course, Ms. Berry. It's my pleasure. Will you be paying today, or would you like me to put it on your tab?"

"I can pay today; my father gave me his credit card. It's kind of a… reward for doing so well lately."

"Ah, well, I don't know of any other young lady that deserves it like you do. I've heard you sing, and I bet you could give Barbra herself a run for her money," Mr. McMartin said cheekily, pulling out an invoice to write up the order.

Rachel blushed and lowered her eyes down to the counter. "Don't be silly, Mr. McMartin. I cannot even fathom the idea of challenging Barbra to a contest, never mind _winning_ against her. I'm sorry, but that is simply nonsensical to the highest degree."

McMartin chuckled and began to fill out the invoice while Rachel focused on digging in her purse for her father's credit card.

The door to the store jingled to announce a new customer, and Mr. McMartin, not looking up, called out to greet them. "Hello!"

Quinn nodded in his direction, once against lost in her own world. Her eyes did a brief sweep of the store – passing right over Rachel as the brunette's back was turned to her – and walked to the back of the store where the percussion section was located. She picked out a sturdy, reasonably priced pair of drumsticks – inspecting them carefully – before turning to the impressive, professional level and exceedingly expensive drum kit set up on display. The blond stared at it in reverence.

Rachel pulled out the credit card and laid it on the counter before drumming her knuckles on the glass. She pursed her lips and let her eyes roam around the store again. The brunette caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned.

She stared at Quinn, wide-eyed with surprise, just taking in the other girl who apparently hadn't noticed her yet. Her eyes traveled down the length of the blond; she was wearing her standard ripped skinny jeans, Doc Martens, and red flannel shirt, but a worse-for-wear black tie was loosely knotted around the collar of the shirt whose sleeves were pushed up along with those of the navy blue hoodie that she had on over it. It was zipped halfway up her abdomen, the bottom of it bulging out, and a black and white checkered backpack covered up its hood.

Rachel's eyes journeyed up to Quinn's face and focused on her wavy, shoulder-length golden locks. They were mussed up, probably due to the blond constantly running her hand through them when at a loss of words. Rachel swallowed and clenched her hands into fists at the sudden thought of what Quinn's hair would feel like if she ran her own fingers through it, perhaps while lying on a bed with her and snuggled into her side...

Rachel about slapped herself, her mind briefly jumping to the conversation she had earlier with Kurt about her sexuality. She narrowed her eyes at Quinn, who was now reaching out and running her fingers along the rim of one of the pieces of the drum kit, her expression one of reverence, akin to how one would look upon a religious relic. Rachel's gaze softened and she grew somber, frowning slightly. The look on Quinn's face reverberated with her on a deep level; she knew exactly what Quinn was feeling – a deep yearning for something beyond one's grasp, no matter how much personal ambition they possessed.

"Ms. Berry? It'll be two thousand one hundred and ninety-five dollars. If you could just sign here…"

Rachel jumped and turned back to Mr. McMartin, who was holding a pen out to her to sign the invoice and credit card receipt. She took it and quickly signed her name, swallowing nervously.

A short distance away, Quinn was frozen to the spot, her breathing quick and shallow. She didn't dare turn and look for fear of 'Ms. Berry' being the only 'Ms. Berry' she knew. She clung to the idea that maybe it was Rachel's cousin twice removed or her aunt or maybe even her despondent mother who was a renowned Broadway singer turned homemaker… Quinn withdrew her hand and clutched onto the drumsticks tightly.

"There we go. Say hello to Ms. Holliday for me, will you? She always says that she'll stop by but she never does." Mr. McMartin smiled at Rachel, oblivious to the situation. He picked up the microphone box and bagged it for the brunette before holding it out to her.

"Y-yes, I will. Thanks, Mr. McMartin," Rachel managed to stutter out.

The music store owner nodded and looked over her shoulder at Quinn, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Can I help you with anything, miss?" He called out, his dark eyes scrutinizing the blond. Rachel masochistically turned again to look at Quinn.

Quinn swallowed, and almost as if in slow motion, shifted to face the counter, Mr. McMartin, and Rachel. Her hazel eyes instantly jumped to Rachel's face – to her chocolate brown eyes – and she held up the pair of drumsticks clutched in her sweaty hand. "No… I just… these." The blond was at a loss of words as she stared at Rachel, at the girl that she thought she would never in a million years see again.

"Ah, the Zildjian sticks. Good choice." McMartin nodded and beckoned Quinn forwards to the cash register. He looked back at Rachel and smiled. "Have a good evening, Ms. Berry."

"You too," Rachel breathed out. She took a hold of the bag containing her outrageously expensive new microphone and spared Quinn one last lingering look before walking out of the store, slightly unsteady on her feet. The bell on the door jingled as she exited.

Quinn closed her eyes briefly, trying to get her racing pulse and mind under control. She swallowed and walked up to the counter, laying the sticks down for Mr. McMartin.

"Do you know Ms. Berry?" He questioned while ringing her up.

"Um. Kind of. We're acquaintances, I guess."

McMartin nodded, a light smile on his lips. "She's a lovely girl. One of my best customers, too, and her voice is simply angelic."

Quinn nodded and smiled weakly. "It is."

"Mmhm. That'll be ten seventy-five." Quinn handed over her twenty-dollar bill and Mr. McMartin finished ringing her up. "Have a good evening."

"Thanks, you too," Quinn replied, tightly clutching the bag. She turned and walked towards the door of the music store, holding onto a shred of hope that Rachel was still in the vicinity.

The blond exited McMartin's Music and Sound and turned right to head to the bus stop.

"Quinn."

The hazel-eyed street drummer stopped in her tracks, not five feet away from the door of the music store. She found Rachel staring at her, the girl's hands nervously kneading the leather of her hot red Porsche's steering wheel, which was currently running but still parked on the curb.

Quinn swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Rachel," she managed to reply, manually forcing her lips to arrange themselves into a small smile when in reality all she wanted to do was either a) run away as fast as she could due to nerves, or b) leap into the Porsche and attack Rachel's lips and tongue with her own. "Um. Hi."

"Hello." Rachel blinked. Her mind was running a mile a minute. She did not know one hundred-percent _why_ she hadn't just high-tailed it out of downtown Lima after leaving the store, instead sitting and _waiting_ for Quinn Fabray to leave McMartin's, but she reluctantly figured she may as explore her less-than-conscious desires. The brunette sighed before taking a deep breath.

"Would you like a ride?"

Quinn stared, then swiveled her head first to the right, then to the left, as if the girl was talking to someone else. She couldn't possibly be standing here with Rachel Berry offering her a ride home to Lima Heights Adjacent in a car that cost more than Quinn's trailer and then some. "Uh."

Rachel swallowed, her dark eyes searching Quinn's face. "I understand if you're hesitant about taking me up on my offer due to the fact that we are mere acquaintances, but surely it must be safer for you to ride with me than to catch the bus. The other day I heard that someone got stabbed on a bus in Lima Heights Adjacent a few short weeks ago, which is simply dreadful, can you imagine? Riding on a bus, minding your own business, and then some thug stabs you with a, what do they call them, shank? Shiv? But gosh, that would just be horrible. I really wish someone would do something about that area, it really is getting terrible-"

"Rachel."

The brunette paused mid-sentence and looked at Quinn, her focus having moved off to the side during her rant. "Yes, Quinn?"

"Okay."

Rachel tilted her head. "Okay?"

"Yeah." Quinn steeled herself before walking to the Porsche and sliding into the passenger side seat, tucking her backpack down by her feet. She rolled her shoulders and ran her hand through her hair before turning to look at Rachel. "Um. Thanks."

"It's my pleasure, Quinn," Rachel replied softly. She shifted the car out of park and took off down the street, her grip on the steering wheel tight.

Quinn was quiet. She kept her gaze in front of her, but kept sneaking peeks at the brunette out of the corner of her eye.

Rachel was doing the same. After three minutes of awkward silence, the tiny brunette spoke up. "So didn't you say that you were saving up for a drum set? I saw you looking at the one in McMartin's…"

Quinn startled slightly at the sudden sound of Rachel's voice. She ran her hand through her hair yet again. "Erm, yeah. I don't have enough for a good set, and I don't want to buy a shit set because it'd break in a week flat."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's not that I'm violent… I just get carried away sometimes." Quinn's cheeks grew a little pink; she shifted uncomfortably in the posh leather seat. "That's why I needed to buy new sticks earlier. They just up and broke on me."

Rachel pursed her lips and snuck a look over at Quinn. The blond had her bottom lip in between her teeth and was nibbling on it in thought. The brunette swallowed, her stomach pulling in at the sight. "Is that what you want to do? Be a drummer for a band or something?"

Quinn nodded. "Something like that. I can't imagine doing anything else. I just… I love it. I'm uh," Quinn smiled nervously, "gonna get a little dorky with you right now, but I can't help it." She took a deep breath before starting to speak with passion. "Drums – drumming, percussion… it's in our blood, yeah? In our DNA? We hit things. We come up with a beat, a rhythm. Without percussion, a piece of music is incomplete – to me at least."

Rachel's mouth opened slightly at the eloquence of the blonde's words. She glanced over at her. Quinn was staring off at nothing, but her hands were gesturing with purpose as she continued to speak.

"Percussion is a heartbeat. It's simple, but it's essential. And I feel – I feel… connected when I'm drumming, when I'm simply hitting things with sticks because it's so fucking _raw_. It makes me feel alive. I drift off into the beat I'm creating with my hands and nothing exists but me – my heartbeat, my soul, my mind – and it. I lose myself. I love it. It's… it's my passion."

Quinn fell silent, biting her lip again. Her cheeks were slightly pink. "Um, sorry. I just… I kind of like talking about it and I never get much of a chance to."

Rachel grinned. "You know, Quinn, you are much more eloquent when you're not around your hoodlum of a friend. Santana might be a brilliant future rapper, but her conversational style could use some formal pointers. I would be willing to provide her with them, but I fear that she would not be very amiable to the idea and I would possibly end up in the emergency room, more than likely damaging my marvelous singing ability in the process."

Quinn laughed. "She just rubs off on me. I can't help it." The blond was smiling, her hazel eyes on Rachel. She couldn't help being attracted to this girl, despite her glaring lack of modesty. She was addictive – she was different. Quinn was hooked and dreading the end of the car ride.

"Understandable. She seems quite extroverted so I understand that it would be hard to not pick up her habits, especially considering the fact that you two seem like very good friends."

"She's my best friend. She has been since we were basically toddlers."

"Well, there you have it. Anyway, I much prefer when your conversational style is like this, Quinn – quite eloquent and bordering on proper. And that was not dorky in the slightest," Rachel sprouted off. "It was actually quite endearing."

Quinn blinked, and Rachel cleared her throat, her cheeks reddening. She hadn't meant for that to slip out.

"Um. Thanks. You probably feel the same way about singing though, don't you?"

Rachel smiled, her eyes on the road. She fought down the massive number of butterflies in her stomach. "Yes. Singing is my life. Acting less so, but it's still important. It is my life dream to become an EGOT recipient."

Quinn scrunched her brow. "What's that?"

"It means for one to win an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony award throughout the course of one's career."

"Oh." Quinn shrunk down in her seat, frowning slightly. "That makes sense. That's a big dream."

"Yes. I realize that." Rachel tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat up straighter. "I am confident in my abilities, however. I strongly believe that I can achieve anything if I work hard towards it, and that ideal hasn't failed me yet."

"Yeah, but… you also have the resources to achieve it."

Rachel glanced over at Quinn, a frown tugging at her lips. "You're referencing my apparent wealth and status in society, as well as where I live and where I go to school, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I'm just saying, it would be a lot different if you were from Adjacent and you went to McKinley. We don't even have band or choir or anything like that."

Rachel gasped and turned her head to stare incredulously at Quinn. "No! Really? Then-then, how…"

Quinn shrugged and rolled her shoulders, a deep frown on her face. "I take it you don't know all that much about Adjacent, or McKinley. We have gangs. Band and choir require after-school trips, which lead to less supervision and more chances of violence. The only reason there isn't mass violence during school itself is because of the metal detectors and numerous security guards. There still is some, of course, pretty much every day, but it could be a lot worse."

Rachel swallowed. "Have you ever – have you been a part of it at all?"

Quinn was quiet for a minute, her focus directed out of the window. "Life is a lot different on the other side of the tracks, Rachel. You're really lucky. I hope you realize that." The blond turned to look at Rachel, her hazel eyes containing a variety of sadness that Rachel had never before witnessed.

Rachel tightened her grip on the steering wheel and swallowed. "I do," she softly uttered. "I… I didn't know it was that bad there."

"Well, now you do." Quinn shifted, her gaze moving to stare out of the windshield. She was biting her lip again.

The two girls were quiet for a few minutes before Rachel piped up. "If your school doesn't have band, then have you ever actually played on a real drum set?"

Quinn frowned and shook her head sadly. "No. Never. I mean, I could play around on one at a music store, but they usually frown upon that, especially when it's obvious that I won't be buying it."

An idea came to Rachel and she set her jaw. She accelerated, and at the next intersection, turned in a different direction than they had been going.

Quinn looked around, puzzled. "Um, Rachel? You're going the wrong way."

"I'm aware, Quinn. I'm kidnapping you. I think you'll find it quite cozy in my basement and/or closet. I'm also a great cook, and you'll get to hear me sing quite often, so it won't be too bad on your end, I promise."

The blond stared, her eyes widening at the serious tone of the singer's words. "You're not serious… are you?"

Rachel laughed, a grin appearing on her lips. She glanced over at Quinn, her chocolate brown eyes sparkling. "You're quite gullible, Quinn. Of course I'm not kidnapping you. Getting sent to prison would be highly problematic in regards to my future plans."

Quinn smiled, but if she were honest with herself, she wouldn't mind too much if Rachel kidnapped her for real. "Phoo. Okay. Good. Though, I'm sure, like you said, it wouldn't be too bad. I'd get to spend time around you, for one thing-" Quinn cut herself off and immediately blushed. "Um."

Rachel smirked, quite enjoying the conversation. She was almost shocked at how well she was getting along with the blond, but then again, she prided herself on her ability to have excellent chemistry with almost everyone she met. "Oh? Is that so?"

Quinn swallowed, her cheeks bright red, and shrunk down in her seat. "Uh. Yeah. You're, um, you're… cool," she finished lamely. The blond could have face-palmed.

The brunette licked her lips and giggled. "Thanks. You're… cool, too, Quinn."

Quinn smiled sheepishly before sitting up and looking out of the windows. "So where are we going, anyway?"

"You'll see. Tell me more about yourself…? Please?"

Quinn bit her lip and obliged. "Erm. I'm an only child. My mom is pretty much my best friend, besides S. My dad… is, um, absent. I'm, erm, I'm a nerd. I play a lot of video games. By the way, I find it really surprising that you like Star Wars." She briefly thought of the discussion they had had outside the Stop 'n' Go, prompted by Brittany's confusion.

Rachel smiled. "Why is that? It has a terrific musical score, and I can appreciate the depth of George Lucas' imagination. I wouldn't say I'm a nerd, but my fathers are movie fanatics so it kind of rubbed off on me."

The blond raised an eyebrow. "Fathers?"

"Oh. Um. Yes. I have two gay dads." Rachel turned to look at Quinn, her eyes narrowed slightly. "I don't think you do, but if you have a problem with that, I will pull over and you can get out right now."

Quinn put her hands up. "No! No, of course I don't have a problem with that. I'm actually, um, yeah… I'm pretty gay myself."

Rachel swallowed, her pulse picking up substantially upon the confirmation of what she already thought concerning the blonde's sexuality. "Okay. Well. Good to know. Wait, I mean, not good to know that you're gay, but good to know that you don't have a problem with my fathers because I really would kick you out and I like you quite a bit – but as a friend, of course. I would very much like to cultivate our new-found friendship on account of-"

"Rachel."

The brunette winced. "Sorry."

Quinn giggled, shifting to angle her body towards Rachel. "It's okay. This is going to sound, um, maybe kind of bad and stuff, but do you have a boyfriend?" She clenched her jaw, nervous to hear the answer.

Rachel panicked internally and ended up laughing nervously. "Oh, no. I'm far too busy to have a boyfriend. Oh hey, we're here!"

The blond street drummer frowned before turning to look. They were pulling into a parking lot in front of an impressive and very large white modern-styled building with several other small buildings of the same style branching off of it. There was a reflective pool spanning its length and a beautifully sculpted sign in front that was proudly displaying the words 'Anderswood Academy of the Arts'.

Quinn stared, wide-eyed. "This… this is Anderswood?"

Rachel smirked lightly at the blonde's reaction. "Mmhm."

"Holy shitsticks," Quinn breathed before turning to the petite singer. "Rachel, what are we doing here? Is it even still open? There's no one else here. Won't you get in trouble?"

Rachel laughed and parked the Porsche before getting out and starting to walk towards the building. "I didn't take you for the kind to be concerned about breaking the rules. Come on, Quinn."

The blond, her jaw still agape, got out of the car and started following Rachel towards the building. "So we aren't supposed to be here after all?"

The brunette was leading them to a side door on one of the small buildings. "We can be, actually. I'm allowed to be, at least. It's a bit of a privilege." She pulled out a keycard and swiped it through the card reader next to the door before entering a code. It blinked green and Quinn heard the audible sound of the door being unlocked.

Rachel hauled it open and stepped into Anderswood, Quinn following her. The blond hunched her shoulders, incredibly timid and feeling very out of place, before looking around. They were in a narrow white hallway with black marble tile, its walls adorned with impressive artwork.

"Quinn."

The blond snapped her eyes back to Rachel, who was already at the other end of the hallway. She scurried after her, the shell-shocked look on her face still very apparent. She had never been in a place this nice before or anyplace the least bit similar. "Sorry."

"Just try to keep up. It's easy to get lost in here, trust me."

"Rachel Berry got lost? Oh my god." Quinn smirked, striding along with Rachel. The singer might be short, but she was quite fast.

"Shut up."

"It's just such a shock to find out that you're not perfect," Quinn cheekily shot back. The brunette suddenly whirled around and came face-to-face with the other girl. Both inhaled sharply as they were mere inches apart.

Rachel's dark eyes hardened as she looked up at Quinn, but she wasn't angry. "I'm not perfect, Quinn Fabray." She swallowed, forcing herself to look away from the brilliant hazel of Quinn's eyes and not inhale the intoxicating scent of the blond – lavender, she thought, with a hint of something spicier. Rachel turned back around and started walking down the hallway again.

Quinn sighed softly, her heart thundering in her rib cage. "I think you are," she whispered under her breath.

Rachel stumbled slightly upon catching Quinn's utterance but didn't stop. She pursed her lips, her expression very hard to read. "Come on."

The blond followed Rachel in silence for another two minutes before the brunette stopped her. They were next to a door with a plaque on it that simply stated 'Percussion Room'. Quinn's eyes traveled to Rachel, her expression unbelieving.

"Rachel?"

"Quinn." The brunette smiled mysteriously, her eyes glittering in the dim light of the hallway. She grasped the handle and hauled open the door before stepping into the room and hitting the light switch next to it. Quinn slowly walked in after her.

Her jaw immediately fell; if it was possible, it would be unhinged and on the floor.

The room was large and filled with every type of high-end percussion instrument one could possibly think of; and the walls and ceiling were outfitted with acoustic panels to allow for the best sound possible. It was extraordinary beyond belief.

Quinn's eyes traveled around the room before stopping on one corner. There sat the most impressive drum set she had ever laid eyes on. In fact, the blond almost wanted to get down on her knees and bow down to it. She stared and took a step towards it before turning back around to look at Rachel, her expression unsure. "Rachel…"

Rachel giggled before throwing a hand out and gesturing towards the drum set, a large smile on her lips. "Go on, Quinn. There's no one here besides us."

The blond smiled widely, but it dimmed slightly after a second and grew serious. "Thank you," she murmured softly, but sincerely. Rachel nodded in acknowledgement, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. She could guess how much this meant to Quinn and was more than happy to do it for her.

Quinn practically skipped over to the drum set and carefully ran her fingers along the cymbals, then the rims of the drums. She shakily took a seat on the stool behind the set and picked up a carelessly abandoned pair of drumsticks that were resting on the snare drum. The blond swallowed, just staring down at the drums, before looking up again. Her eyes found a tiny brunette that currently sported a large shit-eating grin.

Rachel giggled, her smile bright. "What are you waiting for? Play something!" She sat down on the floor and leaned back on her hands, warm brown eyes focused on the other girl.

Quinn nodded and looked back down at the drums. She awkwardly placed her feet on the pedals for both the bass drum and the top hat; Quinn was inexperienced with them, but hoped that she could learn how to use them efficiently in a short time. The blond tapped both of them lightly, testing them out, and then hit each drum and cymbal to get a feel for the differences in sound. She took a deep breath and glanced up at Rachel, who was watching her contentedly. The brunette smiled softly and Quinn exhaled before starting to drum.

Rachel watched as Quinn started off slowly, favoring the actual drums before she started to experiment with the cymbals, bass, and top hat. Her watching soon turned into staring; it was fascinating to watch the blond drift off into her own world of rhythm and beats. She swallowed, her cheeks starting to grow warm.

Quinn upped her tempo and stopped holding back, beating the drums viciously but succinctly. Her blond locks flew around her face as she drummed, her hazel eyes closing from time to time; and, when open, glazed over in a mixture of concentration and awe at the music she was creating. Rachel exhaled shakily and shifted uncomfortably, her heart beating abnormally fast inside her chest.

Quinn was utterly magnificent.

Rachel's mouth opened slightly as her mind drifted off. She imagined getting up and launching herself over to Quinn, grabbing her sticks and throwing them to the ground before straddling her and kissing the living daylights out of the blond. She wondered what Quinn tasted like, what her lips would feel like; she bet they were soft as silk, unlike Finn's whose were always rough and demanding when he convinced her to let him kiss her. She imagined kissing Quinn softly, then hard, introducing her tongue and tangling it up with Quinn's. She wanted to grab onto the black tie around the blonde's neck and pull her up before backing into a wall and pulling Quinn up against her, hot breath on her face and then her neck as the blond moved down to shower it with kisses and soft bites…

Rachel shuddered with want, incredibly turned on.

Ten minutes went by and Rachel was powerless to tame her daydreams. She panted quietly, extremely warm, and kept her eyes – their pupils blown - on Quinn.

The drumming stopped and Rachel blinked before coming back to reality. She grinned at the blond who was smiling widely and looking mighty proud of herself. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face and Rachel itched to lick it off. She shook her head and gulped before jumping up and clapping excitedly. "That was magnificent, Quinn!"

A loud, slow clap started behind Rachel.

Rachel's arousal immediately dimmed, her arms hung in mid-clap. Her heart leapt into her throat as she turned to take in the origin of the clapping. Quinn's mouth grew dry as she hastily set the drumsticks down and stood up, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.

A tall blond woman stood just inside of the room, her eyes narrowed and scrutinizing the pair.

Rachel clasped her hands together and wrung them nervously. "Dr. Sylvester."

"Gold Star McDiva. And…" Sue Sylvester looked over at Quinn, "A girl who does not go here. I know every kid in this school. What's your name?"

"Q-Quinn Fabray, ma'am," the blond choked out, wide-eyed. The woman was extremely intimidating and Quinn was quite scared – even more so judging from Rachel's terrified reaction.

Sue's eyes flicked up and down the drummer. "I think I'll just call you Flannel. How old are you, Flannel?'

Quinn licked her dry lips, shaking slightly. "Sixteen."

"Where do you go to school?"

"McKinley."

Sue subtly cringed. She pursed her lips and settled her hands on her hips. "Listen up, Flannel, because I won't repeat myself."

Quinn nodded, swallowing nervously.

Sue stared at her unblinkingly. "You have talent. You're one of the best drummers I think I've encountered in my five years of running this school. My suggestion for you is to apply here."

Quinn stared and momentarily forgot how to breathe. Rachel raised her eyebrows, looking between the two of them. She knew that Quinn had talent, but for Sue to acknowledge it was another matter all together. But, if Quinn ended up attending Anderswood, Rachel would simply die every time she saw the blond. School would be insufferable, albeit in a very, very good way.

The street drummer swallowed and briefly looked down before focusing her gaze back on Sue. "I, um, I wish I could, but my family would never be able to afford it."

Sue raised an eyebrow. "We give scholarships to deserving students. And, Flannel, you are certainly deserving."

Quinn smiled shakily. "How do I apply?"

Sue smirked lightly. "Come back sometime next week between three and five if you can. The office is right inside the front door."

Quinn nodded. "Okay. Um, thank you."

"Anderswood, and I, would highly benefit from talent like yours. Now get out; it's way too late for you two to be here." Her eyes traveled from Quinn to Rachel, who shrunk under the principal's gaze. She looked back at Quinn. "I expect to see your application on my desk sometime next week, Fabray. Got it?"

Quinn nodded again and Sue turned and left, the sound of her footsteps soon fading. The blond turned to Rachel, her jaw dropping slightly. "Did that just happen?"

Rachel swallowed then forced a smile onto her lips. "It did. She _rarely_ gives compliments so I strongly urge you to savor it."

"Okay. Wow. To go here… Rachel, that would be amazing. I could… I could really become… good."

"Yeah." Rachel forced a smile onto her face. She nodded towards the door. "Let's go before she comes back and chases us out."

"She would actually do that?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Wow. Okay."

Quinn followed Rachel out of the building in somewhat stunned silence. She couldn't believe what had just transpired. First, Rachel taking her there out of the goodness of her heart, her being able to play on the most beautiful drum set ever, and then the principal of Anderswood telling her that should apply to the school and she could possibly go there for free. It was unreal.

They exited the building and Rachel got into the Porsche, Quinn sliding into the passenger's side. She frowned lightly as Rachel stuck her key into the car and started it. "Um. Since I played for you…"

Rachel looked over at her, a small frown on her lips. "Yes, Quinn?"

Quinn swallowed, her hazel eyes darting all around the car. "Um, do you think you could sing for me on the way to Adjacent?"

Rachel's frown slowly turned into a soft smile. She got out her iPod and hooked it up to the car. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Anything. One of your favorites?" Quinn answered, her body turned towards Rachel. She grinned, excited to hear the brunette's beautiful voice again.

Rachel nodded and thumbed through her iPod before settling on a karaoke version of a song, of which Quinn was willing to bet she had endless amounts of. The brunette took the Porsche out of park and soon pulled out of Anderswood and onto the road. She hit play on her iPod and Quinn straightened up to watch.

The sounds of a soft piano and violin filled the car for a few seconds before Rachel began to sing. She kept her eyes on the road, but did not hold back.

"_Something's started crazy –__  
><em>_Sweet and unknown.__  
><em>_Something you keep__ i__n a box on the street –__  
><em>_Now it's longing for a home…"_

Quinn stared in absolute wonderment, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. She had never heard the song before, but it was beautiful and Rachel's soft, silky voice shook her to the core.

_"And who can say what dreams are…?_

_Wake me in time to be lonely and sad._

And who can say what we are…?

_This is the season for dreaming…"_

Quinn couldn't take her eyes off of Rachel. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she simply watched the brunette. Her attention had never before been held so intimately.

"_And now our bodies are the guilty ones,_  
><em>Who touch,<em>  
><em>And color the hours;<em>

_Night won't breathe_  
><em>Oh how we<em>  
><em>Fall in silence from the sky,<em>  
><em>And whisper some silver reply<em>"

Quinn couldn't believe that this girl was real.

"_Pulse is gone and racing –_  
><em>All fits and starts.<em>  
><em>Window by window,<em>  
><em>You try and look into<em>  
><em>This brave new you that you are.<em>

And who can say what dreams are…?

_Wake me in time to be out in the cold._

And who can say what we are…?

_This is the reason for dreaming…"_

She really couldn't._  
><em>

_"And now our bodies are the guilty ones –__  
><em>_Our touch__  
><em>_Will fill every hour._

_Huge and dark, __  
><em>_Oh our hearts__  
><em>_Will murmur the blues from on high,__  
><em>_Then whisper some silver reply…"_

Quinn sensed that the ending of the song was near; her hand twitched, wanting to grab the iPod and _accidentally_ start the song it over.

"_And now our bodies are the guilty ones –_  
><em>Our touch<em>  
><em>Will color the hours<em>

_Night won't breathe_  
><em>Oh how we<em>  
><em>Fall in silence from the sky,<em>  
><em>Then whisper some silver reply…<em>

_And now our bodies are the guilty ones…"_

The music ended and Rachel hit pause on her iPod. She glanced over at Quinn, who was still staring at her. The brunette frowned. "What?"

"Uh."

"Quinn?"

The blond had to clear her throat before responding. "W-what?"

Rachel's frown deepened. "What did you think? I like to receive comments about my performances, either to affirm my knowledge that I am brilliant or just simply outstanding; or, to accept criticism so that I can work on it to reach such a level as to where no one _can_ criticize my performance. As it is, however, I very rarely receive criticism."

"No. Rachel…" Quinn shook her head slightly, her mouth still slightly open. She licked her lips. "That was… you're amazing..."

Rachel couldn't help the blush that immediately appeared on her cheeks. She grinned. "Thank you, Quinn. I'm glad that you enjoyed it. A performance for a performance, yes?"

"Yeah." Quinn was still staring. She really couldn't help it. "Um, what song was that?"

"Oh! It's 'The Guilty Ones' from Spring Awakening," Rachel responded.

"That's a musical, right?"

The brunette turned her head to look at Quinn incredulously before replying. "Yes. It won seven Tony Awards. It is perfection on stage, and the original Broadway cast was simply incredible – especially the female lead."

"Seven? Wow," Quinn breathed. "Well, it _was_ beautiful. I, um," she swallowed, her reaction to Rachel's performance as well as the events that transpired earlier causing her to become more open, "I think I could listen to you sing non-stop and never get bored."

Rachel inhaled sharply and Quinn began to kick herself mentally.

The singer recovered and let out a shaky laugh. "Well, thank you Quinn. That is very flattering. However, it would simply be hell on my voice if I was to sing all the time." She shifted somewhat uncomfortably but a sheepish smile adorned her lips.

"… still," Quinn murmured. "Um, do you think you could maybe sing some more…"

Rachel chuckled, glancing briefly over at the blonde's slightly flushed cheeks. "Of course, Quinn. I do not get the chance to sing to such an attentive and interested audience very often these days, so it would be my pleasure." She smiled and scrolled through her iPod at a stoplight before selecting a playlist of backing tracks.

Quinn was in heaven for the rest of the ride to Lima Heights Adjacent. She couldn't get enough of Rachel's voice and ended up settling in her seat with her back leaning against the door of the car in order to watch the brunette sing. She was hooked – absolutely, one hundred percent: Quinn Fuckin' Fabray had fallen hardcore for Rachel Berry.

The song that Rachel had been singing ended and she hit pause on her iPod. The brunette took her eyes off of the road to glance over at her passenger. "Quinn?"

"Hm?" Quinn murmured, awestruck and staring at the brunette. However, her eyes were glazed over as her thoughts were all over the place at the moment.

"We're in Adjacent. Where's your house located?"

"Oh. Um, just, just – you can drop me off at the Stop 'n' Go. It's close." Quinn bit her lip nervously. There was no way she wanted Rachel to drive her Porsche into the trailer park, or even know that she lived in a trailer in the first place.

Rachel frowned. "Oh. Okay."

Quinn nodded and swallowed. Before long Rachel was pulling into the convenience store's parking lot and parking. The brunette left the car running and turned to look at Quinn, swallowing nervously.

Quinn looked at the store and through its windows, but didn't see Santana anywhere. She frowned slightly, as her best friend was supposed to be waiting for her. Although, she had been gone a while, so maybe Santana had gone home without her. She shrugged internally and turned back to Rachel.

"Um, thanks for the ride and the… uh, taking me to Anderswood. I really don't think I could thank you enough, Rachel," the blond murmured shyly. She smiled softly at the singer. There really was no way that she could think of to be able to repay Rachel for what she did. Besides Santana, no one had ever shown that amount of kindness to her before, and it stunned her to the core.

Rachel blushed and bit her lip hard. Quinn's shy and timid demeanor was going to be her downfall, she could tell. "It was my pleasure, Quinn. I quite enjoyed your company, in all honesty."

"You did?" Quinn asked semi-breathlessly.

Rachel cleared her throat and chuckled nervously. "I did."

Quinn grinned and Rachel's breath hitched at the sight. "Um," the blond murmured, darting her hazel eyes down to the Porsche's stick shift before rising again to meet the brunette's. "I really like you, Rachel."

The singer exhaled shakily and tensed up. She smiled politely, her heart sinking in her chest. "I like you too, Quinn. You seem to be a good person and friend; and I think that I would like to keep you around." She swallowed nervously, watching the blond carefully.

Quinn blinked and tried not to look put out upon hearing the dreaded f-word. She nodded. "Yeah, same." She frowned slightly before looking at Rachel shyly. "Can I have your number? If you wanna hang out sometime or something…"

Rachel thought a minute before nodding. "Okay. I think I would like yours, too." They quickly exchanged numbers and tucked their phones away.

Quinn swallowed and moved her hand to grasp the door handle. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Rachel, though, and found herself staring at the brunette's lips.

The singer felt her heart race upon noticing where Quinn was staring. She scrunched her eyes shut briefly before opening them and giving Quinn a small smile. "Quinn? You should probably go home, it's getting late."

The street drummer blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Um, I'll see you around?" She opened the door and moved to step out.

"Of course. Goodnight, Quinn," Rachel murmured, her heart sinking in her chest. She didn't want the blond to leave – instead, she wanted to yank her back inside the car and drive off to some deserted area in order to better acquaint herself with the blond. Not with words, however, but with her tongue and hands. The brunette closed her eyes and shook her head subtly to knock the idea out of her head.

"Night, Rachel," Quinn replied softly, her hazel eyes lingering on Rachel's face. She closed the door and stepped back from the car. Rachel shifted the Porsche into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Hey, asshole!"

Quinn spun to find Santana approaching her from the direction opposite that of the trailer park. She squinted and frowned at her best friend. "Hey. Where were you?"

Santana ignored her question. "Was that Rachel's car?" She stopped in front of the blond, staring at her with curious, dark eyes. Quinn took in the appearance of her best friend – she was positively glowing.

"Yeah. S – oh my god, I ran into her at the music store; my sticks broke so I went to McMartin's to get a new pair and she was there. Holy shit, S, and then she offered me a ride home! And she took me to-"

"I was at the park with Brittany."

Quinn paused comically and tilted her head to the side to stare at Santana. "What?"

The brunette smirked, a smug expression on her face. "She totally showed up here and said she was looking for me. I took her to the park and-"

"Rachel took me to Anderswood."

"What."

It was Quinn's turn to smirk in victory. "Yeah. I told her that I had never played on a real drum set and she took me to Anderswood and – oh my god, S – there's a whole percussion _room_ and I played on a fucking DW Collector's Series set and it was _heaven_. And then the fuckin' principal of Anderswood comes in and tells me to apply to the school and they offer scholarships." Quinn was almost breathless, a shit-eating grin upon her lips. She stared at her best friend. "S. The principal of fucking Anderswood Academy wants me there _and_ I can go for free!"

"Brittany kissed me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

Santana simply grinned, smug as all hell. Quinn scowled at her.

"You asshat!"

"Language, Fabgay."

Quinn glared at her best friend. "This does _not_ mean that win or some shit! Did you hear what I said? I could go to Anderswood for free!"

"Brittany's lips were on mine. I doubt Rachel's were on yours at any point during your little trip."

The blond suddenly punched Santana in the arm and the brunette recoiled. She glared at Quinn and rubbed at her arm. "Hey! Just 'cause I gots some and the midget didn't even touch you doesn't mean you can abuse me!"

Quinn had a stare-off with Santana for a full minute before visibly deflating and sighing. "Sorry."

"S'fine."

"Nice, by the way."

Santana just smirked. "Oh, it _was_."

Quinn threw her best friend a warning look and Santana shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. They started walking towards the trailer park, both girls feeling pretty much on top of the world.

"Brits told me about the scholarships, too. She wants me to apply."

"We totally should."

"Oh, for sure. Anything to get the fuck out of here," Santana affirmed. "Did you ask what Rachel was doing this weekend?"

"Nah, shit – I should have. Did you ask Brittany?"

"Nope. I forgot."

"What are the odds that they're going to the mall tomorrow?"

"Not very good, Q. We ran into them today, it'd be fuckin' weird as _shit_ if it happened again tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: First of all, let me state that I am so terribly sorry that I have not updated in months and months. I'm in my senior year of college and life got away from me for a bit. But! I think my muse for this story has come back, and I will try my hardest to update it as much as I can from now on.**

**This wasn't necessarily my favorite chapter to write as all the interaction was kind of hard to get right, but I really hope you enjoy it nonetheless!**

* * *

><p>"How does this one look, Brit?"<p>

"Um…"

Rachel turned away from the small mirror and towards Brittany, a small frown upon her lips. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for the blonde's verdict, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers brushing past the bright yellow and red headband – decorated with bows a plenty – that she was currently trying on.

"It's… it kind of looks too… bleh."

"Bleh?"

"Yep. Like my favorite song is totally 'My Headband', you know-"

"- yes, Brittany, and I'm still very flattered."

Brittany smiled, adjusting the mini top hat perched on top of her head, and continued, "But it's like a family of bows live on top of your head and they're all fighting with one another 'cause a red one wants to marry a yellow one and it's like that one musical you made me watch."

Rachel stared, amused, and then pulled the abomination of a headband off, holding it in her hands for a moment. She sighed and put it back on the rack. "I suppose you're right. What do you think about the hat?"

The dancer shrugged, plucking it off of her head and snagging the bobby pins in her hair. She winced and stuck it back on its proper display. "I like it, but not enough to spend Lord Tubbington's allowance on it. He gave me a loan for today."

The corner of Rachel's mouth quirked up in a half smile, well used to her friend's eccentricities and _slight_ obsession with her overweight cat. She bit her lip after a moment and glanced around Claire's. It was chock full of preteen girls trying on gaudy jewelry and loudly bragging about their middle school romances. Rachel shook her head, her upper lip curling somewhat.

"So… are we done?" Brittany asked, trying to disguise the hopeful tone of her voice. Rachel nodded, gripping a few headbands in her hand.

"I suppose. I just wish their inventory was more varied. I'm tired of buying the same kind every time I frequent the store," Rachel responded with a disparaged tone.

Brittany beamed, happy to be done with the hat-trying-on gauntlet. "I'll wait outside!" she exclaimed, and practically skipped out of the store and into the actual mall. Rachel shook her head again and walked over to the register to buy her hair accessories.

Lima's mall was decently large, located right in between North Lima and Lima Heights Adjacent. Residents from both areas frequented it, but it was clear that the two groups stringently avoided one another in the building. They did not make eye contact, except for the occasional glare or stare.

Brittany, a grin upon her lips, sat down on a bench in the middle of the hallway facing Claire's to wait. A minute passed before a shadow appeared over her.

Kurt huffed and primly sat next to Brittany, carefully setting down his array of shopping bags at his feet. "Hi."

"Hey! Wow, you bought a lot," Brittany responded, surveying his purchases. Macy's, Banana Republic, Lacoste, and several other high-end stores proudly displayed their names on Kurt's bags.

"Yes, well. I needed some new things, and Dad got a raise from the city, so." Kurt nodded towards Claire's. "Is Rachel almost finished picking out her headbands?"

As if on cue, the brunette stepped out of Claire's clutching a purple bag and frowning somewhat. She spotted Brittany and Kurt and moved over to them, eyeing Kurt's massive amount of bags. "Did you happen to buy every article of clothing from every store that sells over-priced gender-bending garments?" Her tone was wry and clearly teasing him, but Kurt still scowled.

"_No_. There were some good sales." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I'm sure," Rachel muttered, rolling her eyes playfully. In truth, she cared deeply for Kurt; he was one of her best friends, after all. For a girl so well known for her talents in North Lima and in the greater part of Ohio, Rachel surprisingly did not have many close friends, so she was deeply grateful for Kurt's friendship.

"Did _you_ buy more atrocious headbands?"

"Oh, of course, if only to annoy you and your clearly superior fashion sense," Rachel bit back. She smiled after a second, and Kurt returned it.

Rachel turned to address Brittany, who was watching the children's play area with a longing gaze. "Mike's at Gamestop, right?"

The blonde tore her eyes away from the mock treehouse with its many slides and rope ladders that was the main feature of the play area and back to Rachel. "Yep. He said something about a new game. Battle something, I think. One of those war games he really likes. I've tried playing them with him, but he gets frustrated with me when I keep getting him killed 'cause I keep asking questions about what buttons to press."

Kurt shook his head. "I will never understand the appeal of those. Barbaric, if you ask me."

Brittany shrugged. "They're fun enough, I guess. Not that war or shooting people should be fun, but…" she trailed off, her mind skipping to Santana and the story of her brother being in the gang. She frowned, sadness overcoming her expression.

Rachel took a deep breath. "Well, let's go drag him away and get lunch. Normally I hate to eat in the food court, but I have to make an exception."

Kurt wrinkled his nose at the thought of eating mall food, but acquiesced anyway as he was hungry himself. The three of them made their way to one of the only video game stores in Lima, prepared to drag Mike away from his obsession with first-person shooters.

* * *

><p>"I am <em>so<em> excited for _Modern Warfare_ and _AC: Revelations_. Why isn't it November yet?"

"You are _such_ a nerd, Fabgay."

Mike's head popped up from the Xbox game he was currently fondling. He frowned, his eyes roving around the store at the source of the teasing insult. Two girls had their backs to him – one with mussed blonde hair, the other one with shiny dark locks, a wayward baseball cap perched upon them. They looked like they were from Lima Heights Adjacent, which Mike truly had no problem with; he could care less about status.

Did he just hear what he thought he heard, though? No… how weird would that be? He shook his head, disregarding it, and went back to reading the back of the game case. After a minute, he set it back down, wrinkling his nose. Not worth it. He moved over to the wall dedicated to PSP games.

"Screw you, S," Quinn murmured, shooting her best friend a look. Santana smiled sweetly in response, jamming her hands into the deep pockets of her baggy jeans.

Quinn moved over to the next wall, currently occupied by a tall Asian boy. The blonde eyed him for a quick second – briefly thinking that if she was at all straight she would find him incredibly attractive – before moving her gaze to the PSP games inhabiting the wall. Santana huffed and glanced around, a bored expression on her face. Sometimes she would play Xbox with Quinn, and she was pretty good, but she did not understand her best friend's obsession – they were just video games to her. She'd rather be working on her rhymes or jamming with Quinn and Puck then murdering virtual Communists or aliens.

The drummer rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just wait outside?" she asked quietly, her tone irritated. Santana rolled her eyes in response.

"Fine. Find me when you're done, asshole," Santana replied, turning on her heel. Her tone was light despite the name; she only teased Quinn occasionally about her nerd status, her love for her best friend overcoming anything else she thought about the blonde.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned her eyes back to the games she was currently salivating over. She immediately lost herself in ogling them and reached out to grab the most recent Kingdom Hearts game that she had been meaning to buy forever. A hand brushed against hers and Quinn's head jerked up.

It was the boy she noticed earlier; he was dressed nicely and Quinn almost immediately knew he was from North Lima. He smiled, his eyes darting all over her face, which was turning somewhat pink. "Um, sorry. Wasn't paying attention."

Quinn chucked nervously. "Yeah, me neither." She turned her attention back to the game from which both teenagers had jerked their hands away from. It was the last game. "Um. That's the last one…"

"Um. Oh yeah," Mike responded. "You have it."

"Oh, no. You can have it, don't worry. I'm, uh, saving up for the newest _COD_." The blonde immediately blushed at admitting this; from his clothes, Quinn assumed that he had never had to save up his money to buy a new game.

Mike grinned and made an excited noise, immediately perking up. Unlike a lot of North Lima residents, he did not give a shit about the class differences between the two areas. His family was pretty well off, but he did need a scholarship to dance at Anderswood and was definitely not as wealthy as most of his friends. He considered the discrimination to be downright stupid and extremely ignorant. So, it did not matter if Quinn was currently dressed in ripped jeans, beat-up Chucks, a faded obscure 90s band tee shirt, and plaid flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled up to her elbows – talking about video games took precedence over everything else.

"Dude, I am _so_ excited for _Modern Warfare_. The new leveling system with the killstreaks? So long overdue," Mike exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Quinn's expression lit up almost immediately after a quick furrowing of her brows – this boy's voice sounded weirdly familiar. "I know! The gameplay demo from E3 – just the single player – ugh, it looks _so_ good."

"Dude! I almost got tickets for it, but I had another commitment. Can you imagine going?" Mike's gaze grew dreamy at the thought of attending the highly popular video game conference.

"Oh, in my dreams, dude. I can't even," Quinn murmured, her eyes glazing over.

Mike laughed, his grin wide. "Well, it was cool talking, but I have to meet my friends otherwise they'll chew me out." Actually, only one of them would chew him out; Rachel's punctuality was intense and the girl routinely and genuinely scared Mike sometimes.

Quinn smiled and glanced down at her Ninja Turtles watch. "Me too, actually. Nice talking to you, dude."

"Totally." Mike offered Quinn one last smile before turning and making his way to the register. He frowned slightly, something niggling the back of his mind at the familiarity of Quinn's voice.

Quinn eyed his back for a minute before exiting the store. Dark eyes stared at the blonde before they rolled. Quinn often wondered if they ever saw the back of Santana's brain as often as her best friend rolled them. "All that time and you didn't even get anything? Christ, Q."

Quinn shrugged. "Don't really have the money." Santana sighed and stood. "Where's Tina 'n' Robot Boy?"

"S." Quinn shot her a dark look.

"Sorry," Santana offered sincerely. She did not actually mind Artie, really. He was pretty decent, as far as guys go.

Quinn sighed. "I think Tina wanted to go to Hot Topic. What about Puckerman and 'Cedes?"

"Puck's probably off trying to bang a chick that works at the Gap or some shit. And Aretha?" Santana scoffed. "No fuckin' idea, and I don't give a shit. Don't even know if she showed up."

"Satan, when have I _ever_ turned down a chance to buy myself more hot threads?" Mercedes walked up to the pair who took in her array of shopping bags with incredulous eyes.

"Oh, when you gets something better to spend your money on, Wheezy, like, hm, your family," Santana shot back. Mercedes' gaze hardened considerably, but Santana did not flinch. It was a low blow, and the both of them knew it.

"Hell knows why I still hang out with your trashy ass, Lespez."

"Hey," Santana shrugged, an easy smirk on her lips, "I keep it real and I'm fuckin' hilarious. That's why."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. She honestly had no idea why she kept Santana and Quinn as sort-of friends. It was more than likely because her and Santana's family go back quite a ways. "Whatever, Satan."

"I find it particularly comforting knowing that the apocalypse isn't occurring when Santana and Mercedes keep up with their petty arguments," Artie remarked smartly as he and Tina moved towards the group. Tina bore a small grin at the comment and upon seeing her friends.

Santana's glare, directed towards Artie, chilled him to the bone. After a minute, however, the rapper's expression lightened, a corner of her mouth lifting up into a small smirk, and Artie sighed in relief. Mercedes simply rolled her eyes in annoyance.

Quinn gave the two of them a small grin and noticed that Tina was indeed carrying a bag from Hot Topic. She did not really find the gothic look appealing, but she firmly believed in free will – fuck society's standards and all that. "Food court? I'm cravin' some Panda."

"Shit, Fab. I swear you've got soy sauce runn' through your veins," Puck exclaimed sarcastically as he too walked up to the group. He held his fist out for the blonde to bump, which she did. He did the same for Santana, who offered him a genuine grin. He nodded at the rest of them, an easy grin on his lips.

Quinn glanced around and noticed that several people walking through the mall were giving them looks. The blonde's eyes narrowed at their haughty stares and designer clothes – residents of Lima Heights Adjacent tended to avoid the mall on the weekends so the group's presence was somewhat out of the ordinary. Almost as if they were telepathic, Santana noticed what Quinn was looking at and scowled. "C'mon. I'm tired of getting' looked at like I'm in a fuckin' zoo."

Harsh looks settled upon almost everyone's face and they moved off in the direction of the food court, Santana leading with her trademark swagger which Quinn secretly thought was ridiculous.

Unbeknownst to them, the group consisting of Rachel, Brittany, Kurt, and Mike were behind them a ways.

"… and I said, please, Finn – that vest is horrible and deserves to be burned. I know we're not related by blood, but you'd think that he should have picked up _some_ of my fashion advice throughout the past five years."

"Oh, shoot," Rachel muttered. Kurt's eyebrows rose and he smiled with satisfaction.

"I know, right?"

"No, no, not that. I just remembered that I told him I'd go to his polo game tomorrow." Rachel groaned.

Mike hid a small smile at her predicament. "It's his pout, isn't it?"

Rachel swung her head to look at the boy, looking exasperated. "Partially. I _do_ care about him, but…"

Brittany had tuned out of the conversation a few minutes before, too busy people watching. She found it fun to watch other people's behavior in such a public place – it was fascinating to her. Sighing happily at being with her friends, she suddenly squinted, her gaze straight ahead. Something was familiar.

… more like, someone's ass was familiar.

Brittany stared at Santana's ass, her eyes narrowed. She brightened after a minute, subconsciously licked her lips, and excitedly turned towards Rachel. "Rach, look! It's San and Quinn!" Her grin was wide as she pointed at the two girls. Santana!" she yelled, disregarding the strange looks she earned from the mall's other shoppers – upon seeing Santana, everything else had melted away for Brittany.

Rachel's eyes widened and she gripped Brittany's arm to stop her from waving, feeling as if everyone could suddenly hear the rapid pace of her pulse. "Brittany, no, stop!" she bit out, frozen. "Don't!"

It was too late.

Santana and Quinn paused, as did the rest of them, earning dirty looks from other shoppers who were forced to go around the group. They both sucked in a breath and turned around, Tina, Artie, Mercedes, and Puck copying them.

They found Brittany walking up to them, Rachel surreptitiously trying to drag her back, panic clearly written over her face. Quinn felt her heart sink – the brunette clearly was not happy to see them – or just her, even though they had seemed to be on friendly enough terms yesterday. Both her and Santana summoned small, nervous grins and moved towards the other group.

Mercedes, having caught on quickly, sported an evil looking smirk. "_Ohhh _this is gonna be good…" She debated filming the interaction between the two groups on her phone, but decided against it - the blackmail could definitely backfire on her in the future, knowing Santana.

"Fuck you, 'Cedes," Santana muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Her retort only caused Mercedes' smirk to grow.

Puck had also caught on and was leering somewhat, his eyes dancing all over Brittany and Rachel. "_Nice."_

Both Santana and Quinn turned their heads sharply and gave Puck a glare that caused him to flinch. "Sorry," he murmured. Tina and Artie simply tried not to gape. They had of course heard of Santana and Quinn's previous interactions with Rachel and Brittany but actually seeing them was a whole other matter.

It was the same with the group from North Lima. Rachel finally let go of Brittany's arm and crossed both of her own across her chest, not happy at seeing Quinn, Santana, and their friends. However… she would be lying if she did not admit that the sight of the blonde drummer did not cause butterflies to spring up in her stomach and her palms to sweat uncontrollably.

Kurt took in the overall appearance of the group and arched an eyebrow, his lip curling somewhat. The only member of the group whose outfit did not totally offend him was Mercedes'. He had to respect her style – she looked like she knew something about fashion.

Mike was smiling – he was pleased as punch that Quinn was the girl he talked to earlier at Gamestop. He put up a hand in greeting, causing the blonde's small smile to grow a tiny bit larger at seeing a third familiar face.

Rachel and Brittany stopped once they were about five feet away from Santana and Quinn. Their friends stood slightly behind them, one group scrutinizing the other.

Brittany apparently did not notice the tension between the two. "Hey, Santana! Hi, Quinn!"

Santana tried her hardest not to blush. "Hey, Brittany." Her gaze swung to Rachel and she paused before gritting out, "Rachel." The temptation to call her a somewhat insulting name was hard to push down, but she knew Quinn would be pissed if she acted on it.

Quinn smiled nervously at Brittany to acknowledge her greeting and boldly looking at Rachel, who would not meet her eyes. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing," Rachel responded quickly. "Shopping, obviously."

Brittany elbowed Rachel somewhat, her smile not even dimming. "It is the only mall in Lima, Rach." She turned her attention back to Santana and Quinn. "Are these your friends?" she asked eagerly.

"Uh, yeah," Santana answered. "This is Puck, Mercedes, Tina, and Artie," she offered, pointing at each person in turn. Puck offered a smirk, Mercedes a scrutinizing look, Tina a smile, and Artie a small wave and smile. "And who are the other two punks with you?"

Kurt made an offended noise and Santana's dark eyes moved to him in a second. They narrowed, several insults popping into her mind almost immediately. The rapper bit her tongue, assuming that this well-dressed boy was a friend of Brittany's. "I say 'punks' jokingly, of course," she amended. Kurt still looked at her with blatant disapproval.

Brittany smiled. "This is Mike and Kurt. They're awesome," she exclaimed.

Santana held up a hand, her eyes on the latter. "Kurt? As in Kurt Hudson?"

Kurt cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at the dark-haired girl. "Hummel-Hudson, thanks."

Quinn's expression darkened somewhat, her gaze hardened. "You're Kent Hudson's son."

"One of them, yes," Rachel interrupted, clearing her throat and giving both Kurt and Quinn a look to knock it off. This would not end well if it continued.

"You know him? I'm surprised."

"We tend to know the names of the people who are responsible for the shitty state of our neighborhood, yeah," Santana spit out with venom. Brittany frowned, displeased, and Santana took this in with a frown – she felt bad for causing Brittany any type of sadness.

Kent Hudson happened to be one of Lima's senior judges; he had held the position for several years and it was widely known that there was at least some corruption present to keep him there. He held a strong prejudice against all parts of Lima except North Lima, and he happened to be utterly despised in Lima Heights Adjacent.

Kurt opened his mouth to lay into Santana.

"Boy, you better not start in on your ignorant socioeconomic discrimination, you hear? We have as much right to be in this damn mall as you and your Marc Jacobs' threads," Mercedes suddenly spoke up, stepping forwards. She leveled Kurt with a fierce look that had him flinching. At that moment, however, his respect for this 'Mercedes' heightened and not just because she knew which designer had created his clothes.

Kurt took a step back, his expression turning apologetic. "I won't. I apologize if I came off that way. It's… nice to meet Santana and Quinn's friends; I've heard enough about them," Kurt replied steadily. Rachel immediately blushed at this, which Quinn noted with an inner smirk.

Santana looked stunned and Mercedes glanced at her with satisfaction. Quinn cleared her throat. "Right. Well, it was nice to meet you all, but we're heading to the food court, so…"

"We are too!" Brittany exclaimed. "Hey, let's eat lunch together! We can pull together some tables and stuff. Like, I really want to know you guys 'cause you're important to Santana."

Santana's cheeks turned pink, causing Puck to grin widely. She caught this out of the corner of her eye and elbowed him hard.

Rachel shook her head. "No, Britt, um, I don't think that's a good idea. They might want to, you know, eat by themselves-"

"I think it's a great idea," Mike suddenly offered. Brittany turned and gave him a large grin at his support.

"Me t-too," a soft voice said behind Santana. Tina smiled hesitantly at the four North Lima kids, her gaze soon settling on Mike. He caught her eye and smiled softly. She blushed and Artie's gaze moved between the two of them. He frowned, his brow furrowing.

"Hell, why not?" Puck questioned, shrugging. "No way am I gonna pass up the opportunity to hang out with you two and your friends after hearin' so much about how flawless you are from these two asses over here." He stuck his hands in his pockets and smirked cockily.

"Puckerman, I swear to God I will kill you where you stand, you asshat," Santana growled, a fierce blush upon her cheeks – also present upon Quinn's, Rachel's, and Brittany's. Quinn was full on glaring at her bro, so much that he shrunk back.

Everyone else was either smirking or bearing an extremely amused expression. After an uncomfortable beat, Rachel cleared her throat, her cheeks still visibly pink. "Well. Food court's waiting."

"Right," Quinn said. The ten teenagers – the two groups still very much separate – made their way to the food court. They picked out a place to sit, having to awkwardly move a couple tables together, before wandering off to buy their respective fare.

Quinn was the first back, a tray bearing Panda Express amazingness clutched in her hands. She sat down at the table, one chair in from the outside. Puck joined her a second later, clutching his own tray loaded with Panda Express, and sat on her right before Santana and her Taco Bell slid into the spot next to him. Mercedes chose the seat next to Quinn – whom she had deemed the most decent and least offensive out of the three of them. Brittany, sushi in her clutches, of course chose the seat directly across from Santana, while Kurt surprisingly slid into the one across from Mercedes, causing the girl to raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, figuring that they might at least be able to discuss fashion.

Artie rolled up next to Puck with Tina, who sat across from him. Mike joined the two a second later, sitting next to the black-haired girl who struggled to keep a blush from appearing on her cheeks. Artie was incredibly dismayed at this and focused on his pizza, a frown upon his features.

Rachel, having had to wait in line while they made her vegan sushi, was the last to join the group and had no choice but to sit opposite Quinn. She forced down the butterflies in her stomach and delicately slid into the seat, trying not to look at the blonde.

Quinn was quite pleased with the seating arrangements, but not too happy due to Rachel's obvious displeasure at seeing her – especially after yesterday.

Hesitant conversations between the two groups sprung up after a beat, and Quinn took a deep breath, taking a chance. "It's really weird how we keep running into each other," she ventured, her gaze settling upon Rachel.

The singer looked up from her sushi, which she was intensely focused on in order to not have to make much conversation, especially with Quinn, and immediately regretted it. The drummer's hazel orbs stared at her as if the blonde could see through her flesh and into her soul. She briefly closed her eyes and ignored the quickening of her pulse. She forced a nervous smile. "Yeah, it is. I hope you're not stalking me, Quinn Fabray."

"No," Quinn replied, the hint of a smirk settling upon her lips. "Not yet, anyway."

Rachel shook her head but looked down, hiding a tiny smile. "So…" Quinn drew out, "Um, what songs are you working on right now?"

The brunette smiled fully now, relaxing somewhat at the nature of the question. Music, she could definitely talk about.

Next to them, Kurt was engaging Mercedes in an in-depth discussion about the latest fashions.

"The 2010 collection was so horrible, uch, most of those tops needed to be burned," he said somewhat excitedly – he did not have the opportunity to discuss the topic with anyone else - bar his stuck-up art and design classmates at Anderswood - due to them being completely uninterested.

"Oh, for real! Stefani's collection, though, was tight this year. Give me everything that woman designs. Ooh, and did you hear about Rihanna and Armani?"

"No! What?"

"She's workin' with them to create a line! I couldn't believe my damn ears when I heard!"

Kurt gasped and then nodded his head, totally caught up in the moment. "Ugh, I love her fashion. Her music, too, and I'm not into the Top 40s very much, either."

"Ooh boy, you're speakin' my language now. Bitch is flawless. I only _wish_ I had her chops."

Kurt tilted his head to the side, looking interested. "You sing?"

Further down the table, Santana and Brittany were discussing Brittany's latest dance routine – Santana staring at her in wonder and having to remind herself to eat her Taco Bell – as Brittany would describe the moves quite in-depth. Puck would smirk from time to time at the descriptions, causing Santana's elbow to end up connecting with his ribs.

"… and then there's this, like, twirl, which Mike does to me, and I bring my leg up like super high after that-"

There went Santana's elbow, her gaze not even moving away from Brittany.

Puck winced. "_Fuck_, Lopez. Can you blame me?" he murmured while Brittany went on. Santana did not respond, too entranced by Brittany.

"So I'm in the splits-"

Elbow.

"And then Mike picked me up and we did a flip and like, I had my legs around his waist for a minute because that part of the song was kinda like, sexy-"

Puck actually gasped from the hit this time. "Christ, S, why the fuck do I let you abuse me like this?" he whispered. Santana only smirked.

"-so it kind of goes on like that until there's one major flip at the end after I'm on Mike's shoulders for a bit-"

Puck dodged that one, much to Santana's dismay.

"-and then we ended up in this position with my leg draped over his back and kinda twisted-like. It kinda hurt, but the crowd loved it and the whole thing, really," Brittany finished with a satisfied smile.

Santana did not even elbow Puck at that last remark, instead staring at Brittany with wonder in her eyes. "Wow," she breathed out. "I would _love_ to see you perform like that sometime, Brits. Like… for real."

"Yeah, it sounds _super _hot."

Puck caught Santana's elbow before it landed on its target this time.

Brittany smiled – she was not stupid, having been aware of Santana elbowing Puck every time she described a risqué dance move. "Well I'd _really _like to dance to your rapping again, San."

Santana's cheeks reddened. She straightened up and smiled at her future girlfriend. "That can totally be arranged, Brits."

Next to them, Artie, Tina, and Mike were discussing various bands – Artie hanging back somewhat as Tina and Mike were heavily engaged in conversation with the other.

"Florence's n-new album? Oh my god, I love it. I like all the songs, which is s-super rare!"

"Me too!" Mike exclaimed, his grin towards Tina expanding. The first thing anybody usually noticed about Tina when they met her was her stutter; Mike, however, found it cute in a way, and not at all off-putting. "You wouldn't think that you could dance to it, but I firmly believe that you can dance to any type of music."

Artie hesitantly ventured into the conversation. "Have you ever danced to jazz?"

"Oh yeah, totally," Mike replied, smiling at Artie. "I love it. There's so much room for different sort of moves, which is awesome."

Artie grinned back – try as he might, he could not dislike Mike even though he could sense the attraction between the dancer and Tina – and continued, "I love jazz. It's my favorite genre to play on bass."

"You p-play bass guitar, Artie?" Tina questioned, her eyebrows rising. "I never knew that."

Artie cleared his throat and fought to keep his emotions under control due to Tina's attention turning to him. "Yeah. I've been playing for a couple years now. I kind of sing too, but not really."

Tina grinned. "That's so c-cool!"

"Yeah, totally!" Mike added. "I'd love to hear you play sometime, dude." Pausing for a second, Mike turned to the girl he is crushing on. "Tina, do you play anything? Or sing?"

"I s-sing, a bit. I guess I'm okay at it." She smiled at Mike and he grinned softly back at her, their eyes meeting. Artie looked away, he gaze settling farther down the table, and ended up watching everyone else interact.

At the other end of the table, Mercedes was discussing how she regularly sang and played piano in church, while Kurt let on that he and Rachel were in one of Anderwood's extracurricular choirs, even though his concentration was on art and design.

Next to Mercedes, Quinn's brow furrowed. She looked at Rachel, who was eating the last of her sushi. "Is it just me, or is pretty much everyone discussing music or something really similar right now?"

Santana heard Quinn and turned, which also grabbed Brittany and Puck's attention – which then caused Mike, Artie, and Tina to redirect theirs as well.

Brittany slowly smiled – she had been sitting in the middle of that table and had therefore caught snatches of everyone's conversations. "We totally are. Oh, that's awesome – we all have something in common! See?"

Santana could not hide her smile at just how _cute_ Brittany was in that moment. Everyone agreed, some with more enthusiasm than others, but it was true – they were all musically gifted in some way.

Rachel frowned thoughtfully, very interested in this development. Despite their socioeconomic differences, they all had the human universal of music playing an important part in their lives, which Rachel firmly believed in and found amazing.

Across from her, Quinn studied the brunette's face, trying to guess what she was thinking so deeply about. After a minute, Rachel's gaze jerked up – Quinn was caught, and both girls' cheeks reddened. "Sorry," Quinn murmured.

Rachel shrugged and offered the blonde a smile. "No worries, Quinn. I know your creeper attributes are harmless."

"Yeah, well, um," Quinn stammered, surprised at Rachel's response. The brunette chuckled and Quinn hid her gaze.

Soon enough all ten teenagers had finished their food (or mountain of it, in Puck's case) and got up from the table. They walked out of the food court, still talking, before stopping in the four-way corridor of the mall.

"Um," Rachel said, "it was really great to meet all of you." Her eyes moved over Artie, Tina, Puck, and Mercedes before settling on Quinn. Her voice lowered as the others said their somewhat awkward goodbyes. "Quinn… can I text you sometime, maybe?"

Quinn tried to stop a shit-eating grin from taking over her entire face. "Yeah! Yeah, um, of course you can. Like, if you just wanna talk or, um, if you wanna do something, I'm totally up for that 'cause like, well, wait, do you like video games? I understand if you don't-"

"Quinn," Rachel murmured in a teasing tone.

Quinn's cheeks flushed with color. "Sorry."

"I'll talk to you soon, okay?" Rachel held the blonde's gaze, her expression turning somewhat sad. She briefly reflected on how easily Quinn got her to drop her defenses in the matter of a little over an hour, and marveled.

"Yeah, count on it, Rachel." Quinn gave the brunette a soft smile.

Santana and Brittany stood close to each other next to Rachel and Quinn, lost in their own world. "I'll see you soon, right, San?" Brittany asked quietly, her blue eyes focused on the dark brown of Santana's.

"Of course, Brits. I promise. We'll go out sometime soon, on like a real date," Santana murmured in response, her mind already alight with possibilities. The opportunity to take this blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty of a girl out on a date was possibly once in a lifetime, and Santana did _not_ want to screw it up.

Brittany searched Santana's eyes. "I really wish I could kiss you right now, San." She gave the brunette a soft smile, which Santana returned.

"Can't, Brits. I think you know why. A hug, though?"

Brittany did not respond; instead, she simply wrapped her arms tightly around Santana and subtly pressed her lips into the brunette's neck, causing Santana to break out in goosebumps. "The things that you do to me, Brits," she murmured quietly, to which Brittany chuckled.

"Just wait, San."

Santana's eyes widened comically and Brittany gave her a smirk before pulling away. Santana glanced next to her and glared at Quinn who was currently trying to hide a large smirk of her own due to having heard the exchange.

The two groups finished their goodbyes and parted, minds working overtime at dissecting their time together. During their lunch, their class differences had practically disappeared – they were just ten teenagers with an interest in creating music, and this fact was on all of their minds - one in particular - as they departed from one another.

* * *

><p>The smell of horses and hay hit Rachel's nostrils as she walked down to Hudson Stables' pristine polo field; she scrunched her nose and smoothed down her skirt, not very happy with her current location. She was mentally berating herself for agreeing to go to Finn's polo match – there were so many places that she would rather be at the moment.<p>

Sighing, the brunette walked to the stands, already full of Lima North's most influential residents. Some of them waved at her – the more liberal ones – recognizing her due to their knowledge of her fathers, and she politely waved back.

"Rachel!"

She turned to look for the sound of the voice and found Kurt sitting high in a corner of the stands and looking extremely bored. She hurriedly moved up to join him.

"Thank goodness you actually came. Dad forced me to come and 'show support' for my brother at the last minute." He rolled his eyes, his voice full of relief. "I hate polo," he muttered under his breath.

Rachel sighed, her eyes wandering out towards the field where the players were starting to line up. "Me too. I feel so bad for the horses."

Kurt frowned. "Yeah. They're treated pretty well, though, I think. I never ride anymore. Too dirty, even though the jodhpurs, boots, and the waistcoats looked _amazing_ on me, not going to lie. That's the only reason I used to like doing dressage."

Rachel chuckled softly and shook her head. She squinted out at the field and immediately spotted Finn – he was the tallest of the players and Rachel briefly wondered how he could even play polo without his horse collapsing underneath him. He rode a tall chestnut Thoroughbred, reins in one hand and polo mallet in the other. The blue and white of his uniform stood out against the beige of his breeches, and a black velvet helmet was perched like a crown on top of his head. Sam rode next to him on a black horse, his posture perfect, whereas Finn was slouching slightly.

The four players on each team reached the middle of the field where they were introduced. Finn looked towards the stands and Rachel reluctantly put her hand up to wave to him. He spotted her after a minute and waved back, a goofy grin on his face. It disappeared after a moment as he refocused on the game.

It started soon after; Rachel and Kurt watched for the first three minutes before turning to one another almost at the exact same moment and and ignoring it entirely.

Rachel frowned and leaned towards Kurt, lowering her voice and glancing around nervously. "Did you tell Finn about yesterday?"

Kurt pursed his lips and shook his head. "No, but he heard somehow. You know how it is – anything unorthodox happens in North Lima and the next day everybody knows."

"Shoot," Rachel murmured. "I just know that he's going to bring it up and try to persuade me to stop seeing Quinn. I just," she took a deep breath and stared down at her feet and lowered her tone, "I can't help what I feel for her, Kurt. And it makes me angry, because why can't I stop? She's… she's amazing, but I don't _want_ to feel like this..."

Kurt's expression turned sympathetic. "You can't help it, Rach. I saw the way you looked at her yesterday, even when she was shoveling in that disgusting, MSG-loaded mall Chinese food." He shuddered before continuing, "There's something there, and trying to ignore it… you'd probably regret it."

"But-" Rachel stammered quietly, "- the consequences. I mean, yeah, Anderswood is pretty liberal, but in general, Lima North is really conservative. I think people only tolerate my fathers because they donate so much to the community. Also, I think my dads would be disappointed." Her expression bore sadness – her lips were downturned and the chocolate brown of her eyes was dulled.

"I think it'd be worth it," Kurt murmured. "I liked her, yesterday, you know – for the most part. I get why they don't like us, I do. There's nothing I can do about it, though. My father wouldn't budge on his opinions about Lima Heights even if I begged him and promised to take up sports and dress more… masculine." The well-dressed boy moved a wayward lock of his hair over, irritation apparent on his expression.

Rachel sighed. Both of their gazes moved back to the polo game for a minute or two before Rachel bit her lip and turned back to Kurt.

"… what if there was a way to change things?' she asked, a hint of hope in her tone. Her previously dull eyes glimmered with an idea – a quickly developing idea.

Kurt stared and answered her in a doubtful tone. "How?"

Rachel grinned – once she got a hold of an idea, it took _a lot_ to shoot it down. "Well, you know how us and the others all found out that we love music – our class differences practically disappeared," she quietly exclaimed.

"I did notice that," Kurt agreed, the tone of his voice starting to lighten.

Rachel stared at her close friend and bit her lip, eager as ever. "What if… Kurt, what if we got us and them together and… Quinn and Santana called it 'jam' – with them. We sing, Brittany and Mike dance, Mercedes plays piano and sings – and I'm willing to bet she's quite good; Puck plays guitar, Artie, bass, Quinn drums… and Santana. You know, I'm willing to bet that behind her tough girl rapper image lies a nice singing voice. There's so much… _talent_, Kurt – you can't refute that, even if they're from Lima Heights. And you can't deny that we're both _sick_ of Anders' Choir."

Kurt's upper lip curled. "I can't think of one person in there that I can stand besides you. And there's no _challenge_."

"There really isn't. Joining up with Quinn and the others would be different and challenging and you know that it'll be hard to work with them, but I'm up for it. We just… Kurt, we can't tell anybody about it. You know _all_ of our parents would pitch a fit if they found out we were friends with them," Rachel said excitedly, yet very quietly.

"Agreed," Kurt replied, a grin upon his lips. "They're not too bad, really."

"No… they're not. Santana, though," Rachel ground out, rolling her eyes. She tolerated Santana's insults, mostly due to the fact that she was Quinn's best friend.

"I'm willing to bet that she's just super protective when it comes to Quinn, Rach. I wouldn't take it personally," Kurt affirmed with a small nod. Rachel smiled softly, searching Kurt's eyes and finding nothing but friendship and concern within them. "I think I might start a bet with Brittany or maybe even her as to when you and Quinn will finally get together," Kurt added, smirking widely.

An affronted squeak came from Rachel and she shoved her friend lightly, but with a smile upon her lips. "Shut up."

Kurt only chuckled in response.

The end of the fourth, seven-and-a-half minute chukka ended, signaling the end of the game, and Rachel looked back at the field to the scoreboard. Finn's team had won. She fought against the temptation to roll her eyes, knowing that his ego would be pumped up due to the win. The brunette sighed and stood up. She gave Kurt a small smile and murmured, "I'll text Quinn; I think we're supposed to hang out soon, so I'll bring up the idea and she'll undoubtedly tell Santana about it."

Kurt smiled in return. "Okay, sounds good. Good luck." He nodded his head towards Finn, who was slowly riding up to the stands and grinning at her. Rachel rolled her eyes this time, causing Kurt to chuckle.

She reluctantly moved down the stands and walked over to Finn and his horse, who were both sweating profusely. She frowned; the poor horse looked exhausted. Finn, still grinning, dismounted and loosely held the reins of the chestnut horse, which immediately lowered its head towards the grass. "Hey Rachel! I'm so glad you showed up."

Rachel forced a smile. "Yeah, it was pretty interesting," she lied, having paid little to no attention to the game.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Finn exclaimed. He reached up to unbuckle his helmet, revealing sweat-soaked brown hair, and then wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the back of his arm. Rachel tried not to cringe – he didn't smell too nice (_nothing_ like Quinn, who smelled simply marvelous in Rachel's opinion). She continued to force a smile.

"Yeah, you were really good. Sam, too," she added on. Finn's grin only grew – he did truly consider Sam to be his best friend.

"I'll let him know; he started playing a few months ago, so he's getting better – he's been riding for years so he does really good."

Rachel fought against the temptation to cringe at or correct his horrid grammar mistake. She nodded, waiting for Finn to change topics – he did not disappoint. Rachel prepared herself.

"Rachel… I heard from Jacob that he saw you at the mall yesterday with a bunch of people… Lima Heights people," he said steadily, his expression concerned as he stared down at the petite singer.

"Yes," Rachel affirmed, standing her ground. There was a sudden dangerous spark in her eyes as she stared unblinkingly at the boy in front of her. "They were Quinn and Santana's friends. They were fine, Finn. They're harmless. None of them are in a gang or whatever, which you _probably_ already assume because you're completely ignorant of anything that goes on beyond North Lima's limits. Maybe if you stop worshiping your father, you'd realize how ignorant you truly are." Throughout her speech, her expression had turned more and more scary and affronted.

Finn's jaw had dropped halfway through Rachel's rant. However, a defensive look immediately appeared on his features. "My father works hard to keep justice in Lima! And you don't know them that well, Rach! Why are you defending them?"

Rachel swallowed. She did know the reason why she was defending them, and her initials happened to be Q.F. "Because, Finn. They barely have a say in what happens in Lima. Have you ever been to Lima Heights Adjacent? Maybe I should take you there sometime. Then you can see for yourself how little your father does for anyone not in the top 10% income bracket! It's abhorrent. Someone needs to help speak for them, Finn, otherwise it'll just get worse."

Finn's gaze was hard; he held a strong admiration for his father, unknowing of the corruption he conducted in order to keep his position. Simply put, his father was his number one role model. The boy glared down at her and spoke in a quieter, deadly serious tone. "I mean it, Rachel. I don't know why you think they're worth hanging out with, but you need to stop it."

Rachel was just about trembling with anger. "How _dare_ you try to control me, Finn Hudson. For your information, any chance that you perviously had with me is now _completely_ gone."

The tall boy looked wounded; he suddenly reached out towards her. "Rachel, no – I…"

If Rachel were more aggressive, she would have snarled at that exact moment. As it was, the brunette took a hasty step back, wrenching her arm back. "Leave me alone, Finn. I mean it." She spun on her heel and stalked towards where Rosie was parked, her hands curled into fists.

"Rachel!" Finn called out, his voice desperate.

Rachel blatantly ignored him, resisting the temptation to make a rather unladylike gesture with her hand. Her lips were arranged in a thin line, her eyes hard and staring straight ahead.

Now more than ever, she was determined to go ahead with her plan of joining North Lima and Lima Heights Adjacent through the power of music - Finn Hudson and North Lima's 'superior' bullshit be damned.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Next time on S&S: date night, rap battles, and more, so stay tuned! **


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